


All My Days

by Kit_Kat21



Series: Queenscrown [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Catelyn Lives, F/M, Jon Snow is Not a Targaryen, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Jon and the Starks Are Not Related, Robb Lives, Robb Stark is King in the North
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-08-23 07:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 74,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_Kat21/pseuds/Kit_Kat21
Summary: The night before, as Sansa oversaw the packing of her trunks – her chamber at Winterfell being emptied of her possessions to take to her new home with her – she had asked her brother to describe her soon-to-be husband because Robb hadn’t even supplied a sketch of the man.“Well, he’s… pretty,” Robb decided after a moment’s contemplation.“Pretty?” Sansa’s eyebrows both raised at that.





	1. Prologue

…

 

**One. Prologue.**

 

“Don’t be nervous. Remember that you are a daughter of Winterfell and _he’s_ the one who is lucky to be marrying you,” Catelyn tells her daughter as she tucks a wayward strand from Sansa’s braid back behind her ear. “Don’t be nervous,” she then repeats and Sansa has to wonder if Catelyn is saying that for her or herself.

 

“I’m not,” is Sansa’s immediate response complete with head shake, but she swallows in an attempt to get down the tuft of cotton that has decided to form and lodge itself at the base of her throat.

 

She leans closer to the window of the carriage to see how close they are, but she sees nothing except the passing large hills and white snow on the ground. She has never been this far North before, but now, this is going to be her home. Hers and her husband’s. Sansa wants to make sure that she doesn’t miss a thing during her first look at it. She will only get one first time of seeing it.

 

She wonders what her soon-to-be husband thinks of this land that is now to be theirs. Her brother, Robb, had spoken as highly as he can of another person; Jon Snow, a loyal general to him in the war and they supposedly had grown as close as brothers during their long time together in battle. After the war and the North had won their independence from the lower six Kingdoms of Westeros, Robb – as King in the North – had gifted Jon as both a thank-you and reward with the keep and village of Queenscrown in the Gift – the northern most village before the Wall.

 

Robb had also thought that a sure way to keep the North forged together for years to come would be through various marriages. Rickon – though not even eight – and Lyanna Mormont of House Mormont of Bear Island had a marriage contract brokered between the houses and when they are both of age, they will marry. Robb also arranged the marriage between Bran and Meera Reed of House Reed of Greywater Watch and lastly, his oldest sister, Sansa is to marry his dear friend, Jon Snow – new Lord of Queenscrown of the Gift.

 

The night before, as Sansa oversaw the packing of her trunks – her chamber at Winterfell being emptied of her possessions to take to her new home with her – she had asked her brother to describe her soon-to-be husband because Robb hadn’t even supplied a sketch of the man.

 

“Well, he’s… pretty,” Robb decided after a moment’s contemplation.

 

“Pretty?” Sansa’s eyebrows both raised at that.

 

In all her life, imagining herself marrying a noble Lord or even a King, she had never once envisioned her husband as being pretty. Devilishly handsome, yes, but not pretty. Pretty is the way one describes a young maiden or a field of wildflowers. Not a man. Not a war hero.

 

Robb had just grinned though; almost laughing and these days, Robb is so slow to smile or laugh, Sansa immediately took note of it and she nearly smiled, too, from the rare sight.

 

“The others and I would tease him mercilessly. You’ll be happy with his looks. I promise, Sansa.”

 

And a younger Sansa, before the stupid war and losing both her father and sister to it, the looks of her husband, she knew, would be the most important thing to her. To a younger Sansa, a pretty husband would be all that mattered in this life.

 

But she’s not the girl she used to be and though she asked, she knew that the looks of her husband mattered little to her. All she cared about was if he would be kind. The war had brought out the worst side of so many men and a weathered soldier who had been through and survived the war would certainly be changed. Since the war – though the North had won their freedom – they had still lost so much and it had affected everyone. Sansa hopes that she isn’t being forced upon a man who will spend his days, ignoring or mistreating her.

 

She tells herself though that Robb wouldn’t do that to her. He would never have her marry someone who would be cruel to her. She hopes not, at least.

 

The carriage begins to slow and Sansa looks away from the window to look to her mother.

 

“We’re not here yet, are we?” Sansa asks with a slight frown. She hasn’t seen a village or a keep yet and though she knows both are comparably smaller than Winterfell, she had still expected to see _something_.  

 

“Robb said we wouldn’t reach Queenscrown until much closer to sunset,” Catelyn says and then pushes the door to the carriage open, a gust of strong winter wind rushing in. Sansa shivers and shrinks herself into her thick fur lined cloak. She had made it herself and she has made one for her husband as well, it tucked into one of her trunks and even if he never wishes to wear it, she hopes that he will accept it.

 

Hearing a gallop of a horse approaching, Sansa peers over her mother’s shoulder to see that it is Robb.

 

“Either of you need a relieve?” Robb asks his mother and sister. “Some of the men saw a wild boar running across our path into the woods. We would like to go on a quick hunt to bring it to Queenscrown with us. We can have ourselves a proper feast tonight.”

 

“No, no, dear. You take your time. Your sister and I will just sit here and freeze,” Catelyn says with a frown.

 

Sansa purses her lips together, turning her head away so neither can see her having to bite back a smile. Robb Stark might be the King in the North, but Catelyn Stark certainly doesn’t let the title intimidate her from continuing on being his mother.

 

“Would you and Sansa like to continue on?” Robb suggests.

 

Robb Stark’s reputation as a fierce general in the war against the Southern Kingdoms precedes him. He has faced armies of thousands of men, but none of those opposing armies had Catelyn Stark on their side.

 

Catelyn gives her son an overly-sweet smile. “Please, dear.”

 

She pulls herself back into the carriage and closes the door once more. They can hear Robb riding off, shouting orders to various men and within a few more minutes, the carriage lurches forward and they are on their way once more.

 

Sansa looks back out the window though there is nothing to see except more snow. “Mother?”

 

“Yes, dear?” Catelyn looks to her, giving her attention to her immediately.

 

Sansa purses her lips together, wetting them, before releasing a soft breath. “What if he doesn’t… what if I have been pushed onto Jon Snow and the last thing he wants is a wife? What will I do then?”

 

Catelyn does not answer right away and Sansa finds herself relieved at that. Though she loves her mother for always assuring her, Sansa also does not want Catelyn to assure her because she thinks it’s what Sansa wants. Right now, Sansa wants the truth. She is eighteen now and she is to be a wife. She can handle whatever truth her mother thinks she should hear.

 

“Whether Jon Snow _wants_ a wife or not doesn’t matter,” Catelyn begins. “It’s what he needs.”

 

Sansa’s brow furrows a bit as she looks at Catelyn beside her. “And Jon Snow… _needs_ me?”

 

“He may not know it yet, I’m sure, but yes, he needs you. The last I heard of the Queenscrown Keep, it has been neglected for far too long and no one is more capable of making that into a home than you are and that is what the people and the Lord of the Gift need. They need a Lady who can give that place life again.”

 

Sansa thinks that over for a moment, allowing her mother’s words to roll around in her mind before settling.

 

Her mother has been teaching her for this role since Sansa was a girl of three; how to be a Lady and run a Keep of her own. Since Sansa was old enough to walk, she was shadowing her mother as Catelyn went through her tasks of being Lady of Winterfell. Sansa knows the day-to-day jobs as well as the more important ones of being the Lord’s wife when other Houses come for visits.

 

That’s not what has Sansa worried, but what she is worried about, she doesn’t know how to express to her mother. She knows how to be a Lady. She doesn’t know how to be a _wife_. Yes, she knows what is expected of her – both on her wedding night and after. Jon will take her maidenhead and then, if it is the will of the old and new Gods, Sansa will give him strong sons and daughters. But beyond what is to happen in her bed chambers with this man, Sansa has no idea what else to do for him.

 

She wonders if he has any idea of how to be a husband. Robb hadn’t mentioned a previous wife of Jon Snow’s, but the war had taken so many of their people in the North. Maybe Jon’s first wife had been one of them. But surely, if Jon had been married before, Robb would have mentioned it.

 

“Your mind is racing a mile a minute,” Catelyn notes.

 

“It is,” Sansa agrees, knowing that it’s not something she can deny. “I’m just nervous of meeting him. What if I’m not at all what he has imagined for a wife?”

 

Catelyn frowns at her for that. “One of the most beautiful young women in the North from one of the most noble Houses is not what he imagined?” She asks and Sansa feels her cheeks grow warm though it’s hardly the first time someone has said such a thing about her. “Humph. I will say it again, Sansa. Jon Snow is the lucky one to be marrying you and don’t let me hear another word of you forgetting it.”

 

Sansa manages to give her mother a small smile and nod. “I won’t forget it,” she promises.

 

Catelyn smiles as well, placing a hand over Sansa’s before turning her head to look at the passing landscape through her own window.

 

Sansa looks out her own window and tries to remind herself to keep breathing, but as the hills slowly begin to grow, the nervous tightening in her stomach worsens until it’s almost unbearable. They’re getting closer. She can feel it. The carriage rolls on, the road dipping up and down – doing nothing to help her stomach – and the hills continuing to steadily grow into mountains; mountains that are now going to be her home.

 

She, for the countless time, tries to envision her soon-to-be husband, waiting for her arrival in Queenscrown. Besides being told that he’s pretty – whatever that means in male speak – Robb has also told her that Jon Snow has black, curly hair and a black beard to match. His face remains still such a blank slate to her, all Sansa has in her mind is a head with no eyes, nose or mouth; just a head of black hair.

 

She knows she won’t have to wait much longer though until she finally sees him. They’re almost there.

 

…


	2. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken creative liberty with "facts" of Queenscrown.

…

 

**Two. Preparations.**

The new Lord of Queenscrown in the Gift looks at the bedchamber with a frown.

 

The women have been scrubbing and cleaning and airing it out since dawn and they’ve done the best they can with what they have been given. It smells and looks clean, but even with the curtains on the windows pulled back, the sun that day is weak and as the light does it best to light and warm the room, Jon Snow looks at what will be his new wife’s bedchamber and wonders if this is truly the best he has to offer her.

 

Even asking the question, he already knows the answer. Of all of the bedchambers in their new Keep, this truly is the nicest. It’s small, but Jon can only hope that Sansa will not mind that. He doesn’t know anything about her other that she is the daughter of the great Ned Stark and sister to their King in the North. She is used to the finest things in life – and Jon has no idea what her reaction will be once she arrives here and sees what her living quarters will be.

 

Jon has no idea how to be a husband – or a Lord for that matter – but he isn’t dense enough to think that he can give the daughter of Winterfell one of the chambers with a hole in the roof. This is the finest room that their Keep has – for the moment – and it is hers.

 

When Robb, his King and friend, told him that he was rewarding him for all that he had done in the War of Northern Independence, Jon hadn’t known what to say. He didn’t need a reward. He had fought just like every other soldier in their army had and like any other of their soldiers, Jon would have followed Robb to the ends of Westeros if that was where their leader needed them to go. Jon didn’t need a reward for that.

 

But Robb disagreed and told Jon that he needed him to be the new Lord of Queenscrown in the Gift, the village having been decimated in the war and though it is a small holding, it is an important one and Robb needs someone he can trust to be there. The people who remained there would need guidance and protection of a Lord and Robb felt that Jon could be that for the people. Jon is not going to let his King down.

 

Being a husband though, and not just a husband, but a husband to _Sansa Stark_ , a woman of higher birth than Jon would have ever imagined for himself, that’s a whole other role he has no idea how to fill.

 

He can’t help, but wonder her level of disappointment when Robb spoke to her of marrying no one Jon Snow.

 

“It is a fine chamber, my Lord,” Davos Seaworth, his advisor, speaks, coming to join him in the chamber.

 

Jon does not say anything to that and simply looks to the older man at his side from the corner of his eye.

 

Davos Seaworth had been with him and Robb in the war and after victory, he had had no family and no home to return to. Robb, not having the time to teach Jon all he would need to know, suggested to both that Davos could come to Queenscrown with Jon and aid him. Jon had been more than happy for the help and Davos had had no argument of refusal to give.

 

“Your wife’s wedding present is ready for inspection, my Lord,” Davos says with the smallest smile.

 

Jon looks to the chamber one more time before turning to his advisor with a sigh and nod. “Right.”

 

Queenscrown has several important things that keep this little bit of the North important to the rest of it. Sheep, pigs and onions and asparagus. Since the weather is colder up here most of the year than the lower part of their Kingdom, onions and asparagus are good, hearty crops that they are able to grow year round.  Their crops will be sold to every other House in the Kingdom as well as the Brothers of the Night’s Watch.

 

Queenscrown and other villages in the Gift were victims of constant raids from the Wildings who snuck in from the other side of the Wall, but in his leading the North in the fight for independence, Robb had also struck an agreement with the Wildings – who had even aided the Northern men in some battles – and at the moment, that agreement was holding. Jon hopes it remains that way. He knows a few Wildings now - considers those few to be his friends - and he can't imagine them causing him grief by terrorizing the people that are now his. 

 

For his wedding gift for his new bride, Jon has asked some of the shepherds to present their best lamb to him to give to her. He can only hope that Sansa will like the gift. He is not certain what a groom gifts his bride on their wedding, but Davos had told him that the idea was not a bad one. She may either keep it as a pet or ask the cook to slaughter it for food. It will be her choice.

 

Outside in the courtyard, workers are hurrying to and fro, working on the rebuilding of the Keep and the village outside of the bailey walls. Robb is right. Those who call Queenscrown their home are more than happy to have a new Lord and soon, a new Lady. These are a proud people with a deep love for their home and are eager to see it flourish now that the war has finally come to a close.

 

And so far, they don’t seem to hate Jon for coming in and taking charge. He admits that he had been worried about that – in addition to everything else he is worrying about now that he is a Lord. The last thing he both needs and wants are the people in the Gift hating him on sight for not being from the Gift himself.

 

“Thank you for coming,” Jon gives a small smile to the four shepherds who have gathered to meet him, each with a new lamb to show him after they bow to him – which Jon knows he will never get used to – and give him smiles in return. “I admit, I don’t know much about sheep, but hopefully, you are willing to teach me,” he says and gives the shepherds another small smile and the shepherds smile as well. Jon thinks they might appreciate him being honest with them rather than coming in here and telling these men, who have been raising and herding sheep probably since the First Man, how to do it.

 

“You did good with that,” Davos compliments him as they walk back into the Keep once Jon has chosen a lamb for Sansa. “No better way to lead than to learn about who exactly you’re leading and they appreciated your effort. I could tell.”

 

Jon nods and looks to all of the cleaning taking place around them. Men and women both are cleaning the entire Keep before the arrival of the King and the Stark party. When he had first arrived at Queenscrown to see the Keep, it had been a falling down around him and after a month of nonstop work, it is still falling down around him, but at least, when it’s snowing outside, it’s not snowing as hard inside as well.

 

He knows it is nothing when compared to the grandness of Winterfell and he can’t help, but think – and worry – of how his soon-to-be wife will react once seeing it. He hopes she won’t be too disappointed. Jon has no idea how to be a husband; never thought he would ever be a husband. But he knows that he wants to be a good one and wants to make sure that Sansa isn’t completely miserable in her new life here with him.

 

He takes the stairs to the second floor and returns to what will be his wife’s chambers once more. After their wedding tomorrow, he will be joining her in this room for the night.

 

If she wishes him to.

 

Jon has already decided that he will assure Sansa that what they do or do not tomorrow night is her decision. He knows the archaic display of showing off the blood-stained sheet the morning after the wedding to everyone to show that Sansa came to their bed a virgin and their marriage was now properly consummated, but Jon has absolutely no intention of partaking in anything like that and he hopes that Robb, her brother rather than Robb the King, will agree with him.

 

“My Lord, would you like these in the room or would you like to give them to the Lady Sansa yourself?” Kitty, the Head Maid, asks, coming to him with a bouquet of freshly plucked blue roses.

 

Jon looks to them and then to Kitty before to Davos.

 

The older man gives him Jon a smile with his pursed lips. “There is no wrong decision, my Lord,” he replies.

 

Jon doubts that, but keeps silent. He looks back to the roses. “Place them in a vase for the table,” he says.

 

Kitty gives a quick dip. “Yes, my Lord,” and then she’s off to do just that.

 

“My Lord.”

 

Jon instantly turns to the door to see one of the kitchen boys, panting. “The King and his party are nearing.”

 

“Thank you, Mikken,” Jon manages to nod and the boy turns and runs away after a hurried bow. He really needs to tell the people here to stop bowing every time they see him.

 

Jon then looks to Davos and he wonders how absolutely terrified he looks right now because Davos smiles again and pats a hand on his arm.

 

“Come. Let’s go greet the King and your bride.”

 

Jon swallows and then looks back to Kitty and the other women. “It looks beautiful in here. Thank you for your help in getting it prepared.”

 

All of the women smile and curtsy and Jon tilts his head to them before turning and leaving the chamber, Davos with him as always.

 

His stomach has dropped to his feet and his heart has lodged in the base of his throat. He is not nervous to see Robb. Of course not. Robb may be his King, but Robb is also his dear friend. His brother in arms. They had gone through and survived a war together and that sort of bond forged between men through such an experience is nearly impossible to tarnish. Jon is quite eager to see Robb once again.

 

He is not even nervous to see Catelyn Stark again. The woman had joined them in their commanding tent more than one evening as they discussed battle plans. She is a formidable woman and an intimidating one as well, but Jon has never seen a woman more fiercely protective of her family than her; perhaps his own mum. He _would_ be nervous to have her as a mother-in-law, but right now, his nerves are reserved for another Stark woman; a Stark woman who will be here in just a few more minutes and who will be his wife tomorrow.

 

He steps out into the courtyard once again and it seems to be bustling even more as people rush back and forth, preparing for the arrival of the King and his family.

 

Jon stands there and does his best to remind himself how to keep breathing. The last thing he wishes to do is pass out and face plant himself right at his bride’s feet. He’s certain he will embarrass himself more times than he can count whilst around her, but he would prefer not starting at the precise moment they see one another for the first time.

 

He has never seen her and Robb hadn’t been the best at describing to her when asked.

 

“She’s pretty,” Robb had shrugged. Jon had just kept looking at him though and Robb had sighed. “I don’t know, Snow. She’s my sister. She’s… pretty.”

 

Yes, Jon had heard that from others who _have_ seen Sansa Stark of Winterfell. Apparently, she’s one of the most beautiful women in all of the North. Jon has to wonder what she thinks, having to live this far North and having to marry a complete stranger whom she has also never seen.

 

He can just hope that she will be happy – both with his own appearance and with their new home.

 

It’s new to the both of them and Jon can also only hope that they won’t hate one another and can learn this new home together.

 

He knows he won’t have to wait much longer though until he sees her for himself and will be able to determine what kind of marriage they might possibly have together. They’re almost here.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly shocked at the response to the first chapter and I can't thank you all enough. I hope you continue to like this story. Sansa and Jon officially see/meet one another in the next chapter, Jon presents his gift and Sansa sees her new home.


	3. First Impressions

…

 

**Three. First Impressions.**

Her first thought when she sees the Keep of Queenscrown for the first time is that it’s small. Not surprising though. All of the Keeps in the North are smaller than Winterfell and Winterfell is all Sansa is used to. But this will be her home now – hers and her husband’s – and Sansa thinks it might be the perfect size. After all, the Gift is a vast land, but its population is sparse and there’s no need for it to have some massive Keep in it.

 

It certainly is a Keep in some need of serious work – as Robb has told, and warned, her, but she knows that Jon has been here a month already, working nonstop on rebuilding and she tries to imagine just how much worse it had looked when Jon had first arrived and gotten his first look at it.

 

But thoughts of the Keep and the state of it seem to instantly vanish from her mind once the carriage comes to a stop in the courtyard and Sansa sees three men standing there, waiting. One is an older man with grey hair sheered close to his scalp and a beard to match. The second is younger, a bit portly, and his cheeks are red as if he’s just hurried a great distance.

 

The third man standing in between the other two, Sansa admits that the third man causes the breath to catch in her throat. That must be her husband-to-be. She can’t tell if his hair is curly, but it certainly is black – currently pulled back from his face – and he has the black beard to match. This must be Jon.

 

Sansa looks at him for another moment through the window of the carriage as it slowly comes to a stop before she turns her head to look to her mother.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asks; nearly demanding, not meaning to, but unable to stop herself.

 

She can already feel her heart speeding up within her chest, nearly skipping beats, it is drumming so quickly. The reaction confuses her because she’s hardly seen him and yet, her mind seems to be made up that she’s quite pleased with what little she sees; which is also not only confusing, but surprising as well. Of what little she has seen of her intended husband, he has the look of a Northern man.

 

Before the war, when she was younger and hadn’t seen enough of the world to know much of anything, Sansa had liked to daydream of the someday Lord or even Prince she would marry and it was always the same image of a man in her mind: blonde hair and fair skin and so beautiful, it almost ached to look at him.

 

Her intended is the complete opposite of some fair-haired boy and Sansa suddenly worries how she looks after traveling for the past two days in a carriage from Winterfell.

 

“Because, dear,” Catelyn says with a smile as if she’s known all along that this is how Sansa would act once she saw Jon for the first time. “If I had described him to you, you wouldn’t be as you are now. You only get one first time of seeing your husband.”

 

“I look a fright…” Sansa’s hands go to her hair, but Catelyn immediately pulls them down again.

 

“You look beautiful,” Catelyn informs her. “You’re going to take his breath away.”

 

Sansa looks at her for a moment before looking back towards the window once more. Robb has dismounted from his horse and the three men – as does everyone in the courtyard – all drop to one knee in front of the presence of their King.

 

“Get up,” her brother orders and as soon as Jon is up on his feet once more, Robb tugs him into a fierce hug.

 

“Come,” Catelyn says and squeezes Sansa’s hands.

 

The carriage door is opened by one of the Stark soldiers who have accompanied them and Catelyn steps out first. Sansa watches as Jon bows to her and Catelyn bows her head to him respectfully. Sansa takes a deep breath and then another, her heart still racing. She tells herself that it is good she is pleased with her husband’s look just from seeing him a few seconds ago for the first time. She has heard stories of other betrothals of girls being married off to men far older, far fatter and far uglier. She feels a moment’s guilt for not believing more in Robb and his promise to always take care of her.

 

When Sansa steps out, her eyes land right on Jon and he is staring right at her.

 

She cannot read his expression. His face seems rather closed off and she wishes she knew what he was thinking right at this moment when he sees her for the first time. Is his own heart racing as hers still is?

 

“Jon, my sister, Sansa. Sansa, Jon Snow,” Robb introduces them both, a pleased smile on his face as if he’s moments away from patting his own back for a job well done.

 

“My Lady,” Jon bows to her.

 

Sansa drops into a curtsey. “My Lord.”

 

When she rises, Jon is still staring at her and he doesn’t seem to be able to look away from her. Sansa tells herself that that is a good thing. If he wasn’t pleased with her, he wouldn’t be able to look at her at all. She does her best to give him a small smile.

 

“I have a gift for you, my Lady,” Jon then says rather suddenly before turning to the portly man at his side. The man gives his Lord a grin and Sansa watches as he hurries off.

 

“You did not have to get me anything, my Lord,” she tells him.

 

“Of course, I did. It is a wedding gift. The King told me-”

 

“Robb,” Robb interjects with his name.

 

Jon continues as if he hasn’t heard.

 

“He told me of how you lost your direwolf during the war,” Jon says and Sansa feels her breath catch in her throat at just the mention of her beloved Lady.

 

She still loves her faithful direwolf with all of her heart, but it does Sansa good to not dwell on thoughts of her. She had lost her father and sister both and yet, losing Lady, Sansa hadn’t known how much more loss she would be able to take during the seemingly never-ending war before she simply collapse into herself.

 

“It is your decision if you wish to keep it or give it to cook, but I hope that you like it,” Jon continues and then turns when he hears the other man returning.

 

Sansa can’t help, but gasp when she sees the little white lamb.

 

With the lamb in his arms, Jon turns back to Sansa and Sansa can’t explain it, but she feels tears rush into her eyes. Tears of feeling extremely overwhelmed, perhaps, or tears because this complete stranger had thought to get her something in an effort to replace the direwolf she had loved more than she could ever fully explain.

 

“Oh, he’s… he’s so wonderful,” Sansa says and steps to Jon and the lamb, smiling as she pets the animal’s head. She then lifts her eyes, finding Jon watching her intensely. She gives him a small smile. “Thank you so much, my Lord.”

 

“I’m glad it pleases you, my Lady,” Jon says and his voice is quiet and low and Sansa feels a shiver shake down her spine that she tells herself is from the brisk Gift winter wind and not from this man’s eyes or voice. It seems improper to her to have such reactions to a man who – though will be her husband – is still very much a complete stranger to her.

 

“Shall we have him for supper tonight then?” Robb speaks up and Sansa instantly turns to give her brother a frown. Robb lets out a laugh. “Forgive me. I will be more than satisfied with the boar we hunted.”

 

Jon clears his throat then and Sansa looks back to him. Jon, however, is looking to Robb.

 

“If it pleases the King and his party, the cook has made a warm venison and onion stew for supper tonight. I would have had something more befitting for the Stark family, but we are still getting ourselves settled.”

 

“A hearty stew sounds wonderful, Jon,” Catelyn speaks now.

 

“We’ll save the boar for the wedding feast tomorrow,” Robb smiles and claps a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

 

Sansa is unsure why that makes her cheeks blush, but it does and she pretends to be completely distracted with the lamb still in her Lord’s arms. It truly is such a wonderful present; that Robb would mention his sister’s dead direwolf to this man and not only would he remember, but he would think of a gift to ease her heartache.

 

Even if he wasn’t as handsome as he is, Sansa would feel relief that her husband seems to be a kind man. Kindness has come to mean so much more to her than anyone’s looks. The prettiest of all people can turn out to be the cruelest of all and the ugliest often have the gentlest heart in their chests. She has now known both.

 

Jon clears his throat again and Sansa lifts her eyes to his. “Onions is one of our main crops in the Gift.”

 

He seems nervous about telling her that. The rest of him is still so blank to her, but she can sense that at least. She gives him a small smile and slight shake of her head.

 

“I look forward to working with our cook and thinking of new recipes for all of our onions,” she says.

 

She considers it a victory when she gets her almost-husband to smile. Like Robb, Sansa senses that smiles do not come to Jon Snow easily. From the corner of her eye, she can also see her mother smile so Sansa knows that she has said the right thing.

 

Jon bends then and sets the lamb down on the ground, Sansa watching the lamb still learning itself on its unsteady legs, before she looks back to Jon as he introduces his advisor, Davos Seaworth, and their maester, Samwell Tarly. Both men bow to her once Jon officially introduces the Lady Stark to them and she knows she is not to curtsey to them, but she gives them both smiles and bows of her head.

 

“We will get Sansa and my mother settled in their rooms before supper and then you can talk with me of the progress you have made here so far,” Robb suggests to Jon and since Robb is his King, Sansa knows Jon wouldn’t think of suggesting something otherwise.

 

She can’t help, but feel a bit of disappointment. She had hoped that they would be able to spend a bit of time together before Robb whisks her Lord away with talks of papers and business, but maybe, she and Jon will have their chance later this evening.

 

She finds herself hoping for such a chance.

 

…

 

“Well?” Robb asks as soon as he, Jon, Davos and Sam are closed up in Jon’s chancery.

 

Queenscrown has no chancellor at the moment so for the time being, Davos is helping Jon with all of the papers that, as Lord, Jon must see to. Jon hadn’t expected there to be quite so much paperwork as every day, he is learning and trying to wrap his head around it.

 

“What do you think of her?” Robb asks as they all settle in their chairs by the roaring hearth. The kitchen boy, Mikken, has come in after them and now, serves them cups of wine, making sure the King has his cup first. “Do you approve?” He continues to press.

 

“How could I not?” Jon speaks before he can stop himself. Sansa Stark, soon to be Lady Snow of the Gift, is far too beautiful for a man who – just a few years ago – was no one. “She’s too beautiful and noble to be marrying me and spending the rest of her days up in this tundra.”

 

“She is needed here just as you are,” Robb tells him. “The Gift has always been a part of the Night’s Watch. There has never been a noble house before in this land, but the Gift is far too valuable to keep it as such and the Brothers agree with me. You and Sansa are building something from scratch and you two are two of the strongest, smartest people I know. If anyone can do it, it will be you both, working together.”

 

Jon is unsure of how to respond to that as he mulls over his wine. Robb has said all of this to him before; when he was first explaining to Jon that at the end of the war, Robb was making him a Lord and giving him land to rule over. He had also explained the betrothal between Jon and Sansa and at the time, Jon would never think to refuse his King.

 

But now, he has seen Sansa and he has never seen anyone as beautiful. Beauty such as hers shouldn’t be hidden away as far North as this Kingdom goes. She should be in Winterfell where the Keep there is properly suited to host those from all Houses; not here where there are still so many roofs to patch and walls to rebuild. And onions? This woman should be surrounded by flowers and all he can offer are sheep and onions.

 

“She seems to be quite approving of you as well, Jon,” Sam speaks up, giving his friend a smile. “She almost looked disappointed when Robb whisked you away.”

 

“Did she?” Robb sits up a bit in his seat, grinning.

 

“She did?” Jon asks with a frown, highly doubting that.

 

“I told you the lamb was a good idea,” Davos says with his own smile.

 

Jon is frowning into his cup of wine, not saying anything further. He can’t imagine a woman of Sansa’s station ever wishing to spend any time with him. He never has anything to say. He’s been told he’s too quiet; too often lost in his thoughts; too busy with contemplation rather than talking with those around him.

 

If Sam and Davos are right in their assessment and Sansa _does_ approve of him, Jon can’t imagine that lasting. It will take her no time at all after their wedding tomorrow to realize that her brother – while his intentions were good – has all, but, banished her to the most Northern Keep, married to a man who can’t possibly make her happy.

 

Jon already doubts he will ever be able to make the Lady Sansa happy.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much! Jon and Sansa will get the chance for some alone interaction in the next chapter and Sansa will present her own wedding gift to Jon.


	4. First Name Basis

…

 

**Four. First Name Basis.**

Sansa laughs lightly as she watches the lamb – _her_ lamb – walk on his legs, still slightly unsteady beneath him, occasionally trying to run and nearly tripping over himself. It is after supper and the torches have been lit both inside and out. After eating, Jon and Robb had excused themselves, returning to Jon’s chancery and Catelyn had bid them all goodnight, tired after their journey. Sansa, though, feels too excited to get ready for bed as well. Excited, scared, anxious – a tangled ball of all three.

 

She will be getting married tomorrow to Lord Snow of the Gift and she will then be Lady Snow of the Gift.

 

She and Jon hadn’t spoken to one another during supper. Robb had sat in the middle chair at the table on the dais. Jon had sat to his right, Catelyn to his left, and Sansa had sat on the other side of Jon. She had thought – hoped – that they would be able to speak; at least a little bit. But Robb had monopolized all of Jon’s time, both talking about the Keep at Queenscrown and all of the work that still has to be done.

 

At one moment, Jon had asked her how the stew was and Sansa had nodded and gave him a small smile.

 

“It’s very good, My Lord,” she answered and Jon had given her his own small smile before he was back in a conversation with Robb.

 

The stew _had_ been very good and Sansa admits that she had been surprised about that. She and her mother have been talking about all of the responsibilities that would be Sansa’s after she becomes the Lady of the House and being in charge of the cook and the kitchen are two of those responsibilities. She hadn’t expected the food to be that good, this far North, but the venison and onion stew had hit just the perfect spot.

 

Behind the Keep, there are gardens – tangled with weeds and overgrown hedges – and there is a small lake, with a round tower in the middle of it. It looks to be hardly standing from years of neglect and Sansa looks at the structure – a dark shape in the night – and she wonders what the tower is. 

 

“Dorren!” She calls out to the lamb when she sees the creature nosing the ground, getting too close to the entrance of the hedge maze. She goes to fetch him and she smiles as she lifts him up into her arms, turning back towards the Keep and almost gasping when she sees her Lord almost-husband standing there.

 

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says.

 

She shakes her head and a moment later, she remembers to answer. “You did not, My Lord. I was just assuming you would be with my brother for some more time.”

 

She is still standing in the same spot and Jon is the one to step closer to her. The torch lights dance across his face and Sansa, once again, is almost stunned at how handsome her almost-husband is. She knows that being the King’s sister, whoever Robb married her to, it would be one of the most important alliances Robb could make for himself and the North and yet, Robb has her marrying one of his best mates; a lowly Lord in a holding that doesn’t have that much power and influence in the North – yet.

 

She wonders if Robb has a reason for this match and yet, she also feels gratitude towards her brother for this match. Her husband is handsome and her husband seems to be kind and she isn’t afraid of him; wanting to actually speak with him and perturbed with her brother for taking his time.

 

“I’m sure he had more to discuss, but your brother has never been the best at holding his wine,” Jon says.

 

Sansa smiles at that and seeing her smile, Jon smiles, too.

 

He dips his head towards the lamb still in her arms. “You have decided on Dorren? As in King Dorren?”

 

“A large name for a little lamb, but I think he can live up to it,” Sansa says as she dips her nose down to brush along the top of the lamb’s head and when she lifts her eyes, she finds that Jon is watching at her. His eyes are dark; looking even more so in the torch light.

 

“I have another wedding gift for you,” Jon tells her. “I didn’t want to get you just a lamb.”

 

“You didn’t have to do that. I love Dorren so much already and the thought behind him means even more.”

 

“You are the King’s sister. You need more than a lamb.”

 

“I do not _need_ anything, My Lord.”

 

“Jon,” he says, almost sighing. “Please. My name… I am not your Lord.”

 

“Jon,” Sansa repeats his name quietly, as if testing it and seeing how it feels upon her lips. She thinks she very much likes the way his name feels in her mouth. “Could you say my name?” She asks.

 

Jon’s eyes are staring into hers.

 

“Sansa,” he then says her name in that low voice that makes her shiver.

 

She has just met this man a few hours before, but she already knows that this shiver is not the Gift’s winter winds. She has never had someone say her name – or even speak to her – that could get such a bodily reaction. She wonders how he just felt when she said his name.

 

His face is still so blank to her, she wonders if it’s a conscious effort on his part; to hide himself from her. And then she wonders why he would wish to hide himself from her. She doesn’t mean for her mind to wander in that direction, but she can’t seem to stop it from doing just that.

 

Perhaps Jon is the one who is being forced into a marriage when it’s the last thing he wants.

 

Sansa has always known that this was to be expected of her. Her mother has been grooming and training her for this since was three-years-old. Marriage proposals began arriving to her father by her twelfth birthday, but Ned Stark was not in a rush to marry his oldest daughter off to the first offer that came across his desk. He told Sansa that he would find a match for her and she could be married at sixteen if that was what she wished. And Sansa had wished it because that’s what she was meant to do. Marry and have children was what she was always supposed to do in her life.

 

Of course, everything changed and the war lasted for too long and after the death of their father, Robb took up the responsibility of brokering a marriage contract for Sansa.

 

It may have been delayed a few years, but this was always supposed to be her life.

 

Sansa looks to Jon now though and wonders if he is being forced into a life – with her – that he doesn’t want.

 

“With your permission, after the wedding, I would like to begin work on these gardens and the maze,” Sansa swiftly picks a new subject, turning towards the overgrown mass of foliage.

 

Jon takes a step forward so he is standing at her side. “You do not need my permission, My Lady, to work on your own gardens.”

 

“Forget my name already, have you, Jon?” She questions. From the corner of her eye, she can see his head bowed to the ground and she can see the faintest smile pull at his lips. “Perhaps the work on the gardens will have to wait though. My dowry will have to see to other more important things first.”

 

“No, my… Sansa,” he corrects himself and Sansa must admit that _My Sansa_ sounds wonderful though she knows that it wasn’t his intent to actually say that. “Your dowry is yours. Your brother has brought other coin to help us with renovations of the Keep.”

 

Sansa is surprised at that and she can’t hide it from her face as she looks to Jon. Jon turns his head to look at her and he gives her the barest of smiles.

 

“I am not marrying you for a dowry,” he tells her.

 

“You’re marrying me because my brother is your King and has told you,” Sansa hears herself say though she’s not entirely sure why she has.

 

“Yes,” Jon agrees and Sansa almost winces at his honesty.

 

Of course, that’s why he’s marrying her. Sansa knows that and she has no room to act surprised. All marriages of Lords and Ladies are arranged by either their parents or the King himself.

 

Sansa has spent her childhood, loving stories of valiant Knights and heroes of songs, battling all those who stand in their way of love, conquering all for their Lady loves. Sansa has always been in love with love. Even with the war and all of the death and loss, Sansa supposes that part of her hasn’t changed. Though she had always known her marriage would be an arranged one, she had also always hoped that love between her and her husband would be possible.

 

She looks to Jon and he’s handsome and kind – that much is true – but how can she love this man when he has made it so clear to her that she is an obligation?

 

Jon’s mouth begins to open as if he is to say something else, but Sansa admits she does not wish to hear it.

 

“Will you walk me back to my room, My Lord? I wish to give you something before our wedding tomorrow.”

 

Sansa knows that he has heard the proper title which she has used towards him and he looks to her for a moment before visibly swallowing and giving a single nod of his head.

 

“Of course, My Lady,” he responds.

 

So much for first names, Sansa thinks to herself.

 

Jon calls one of the men on guard duty and tells him to take Dorren back to the stable for the night. Sansa gives her lamb a kiss on the head before passing him off to the guard and then she and Jon proceed into the Keep.

 

They walk silently, side by side, though Sansa had not expected them to have a conversation with one another. She is lost in her thoughts, she admits. She hopes she has time to speak with her mother privately before the wedding tomorrow and ask her for advice. Catelyn and Ned Stark’s marriage had been an arranged one and they had had five children together and a deep love for one another. Sansa can’t believe that she hasn’t asked her mother already for all of the advice in the world before proceeding into her own arranged marriage.

 

Did her mother and father love one another at first sight? Or was it a duty that became something more?

 

Outside her door, Sansa pushes it open, but then turns to Jon. “I will be back shortly,” she tells him and Jon is staring at her, nodding as he takes a step back as she slips into the room and closes the door behind her.

 

Jeyne Poole had grown up, the daughter of the Steward of Winterfell and Sansa’s closest friend. During the war, her entire family had been killed, leaving her all alone in this world with nothing. Robb had offered to broker a marriage for her to one of the Kingsguard, but she had refused even with Sansa telling her – pleading with her – that it would be a good match. Jeyne, proud and still grieving, had told the King as politely as she could. She was a Steward’s daughter and now, she was nothing. She had no expectations for her life any longer.

 

Sansa does not expect it to be permanent. She has every intention of seeing her closest friend married and happy, once again, but for the moment, Jeyne is now serving as her maid and has moved to the Gift with her. Sansa is going to be on the lookout for a husband for her friend among the men of their new home.

 

Jeyne is in the room, laying out Sansa’s nightgown for her and waiting to prepare her Lady for bed.

 

“Stop,” Sansa frowns at her when Jeyne curtsies as Sansa enters the room. “Jon is waiting outside. I wish to give him the cloak I have made for him. Do you remember which chest we packed it in?”

 

Jeyne smiles and moves towards one of the chests beneath one of the windows. “It is good you are able to talk with him without your brother nearby,” Jeyne comments as she carefully pulls the cloak out.

 

“I thought so, too,” Sansa murmurs to herself.

 

She knows she’s being too sensitive. She _knows_ Jon is marrying her as an obligation to his King and her brother. Did she really expect it to be different? That he takes one look at her and love her madly already?

 

Silly hopes of a silly girl.

 

“I will be right back,” Sansa tells Jeyne and then frowns at her when Jeyne curtsies once more to her.

 

Jon is still out in the hall and it looks as if maybe he is talking to himself, but he snaps to attention when Sansa steps back out to join him.

 

“For you, My Lord. I made it myself,” Sansa says as she holds the cloak out for him to take.

 

He does it slowly. It is heavy and black with animal fur knitted thickly around the collar and two leather straps across the chest.

 

“My brother told me that the House Snow has no sigil as of yet so once it does, I will be able to put it on the strap here,” Sansa explains as Jon holds the cloak in his hands, looking it over as if he has never seen anything so wonderful before.

 

Sansa is grateful the torches in the hall do not provide enough light for him to see the color on her cheeks.

 

Jon lifts his eyes and stares right into hers. “Thank you, Sansa,” he says almost on an exhale of breath; as if he’s completely overwhelmed with what she has presented to him.

 

Sansa feels her stomach clench – both from his eyes and the sound of her name on his lips. She does her best to give him a smile while feeling completely overwhelmed now herself. “You’re welcome… Jon.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for those reading! The response is just blowing me away. To those who celebrate in the US, I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving. In the next chapter, Jon and Sansa will be married in the Godswood.


	5. An Official Union

…

 

**Five. An Official Union.**

_“I’m trusting you, Jon. I’m trusting you to keep her safe.”_

_“I promise, Robb_ ,” _Jon vowed, for once, calling his friend by his name and not addressing him as his King. This conversation was far more serious than other conversations and somehow, using Robb’s name in this case was just as serious. “I will give my life to keep Sansa safe.”_

Robb has told Jon all he needs to know; not every single detail, but enough. Sansa, the King’s sister, is one of the most important and sought-after women in not just the North, but all of Westeros. Every eligible male in every different kingdom would want an alliance with the King in the North and they would get that through a marriage with Sansa.

 

Since the North won independence and Robb was crowned, he had been flooded with ravens from all points of the continent, all requesting meetings with the new King to discuss all sorts of business; and marriage to his sister was always near the top of that list. Robb was not interested in an alliance with any House not from the North. The North had just won their independence and the rest of Westeros could rot as far as he was concerned. But there were certain Houses in the North that he would not trust his sister to either.

 

_“I’ve thought of little else,” Robb confessed to Jon once he has laid out his plan to his best mate. “And I’ve tried to think of what our father would have done. Sansa… I just can’t give her to any House.”_

Robb now walks his sister to the Weirwood heart tree in the Godswood, the path lined by torches, where Jon stands with the others and the instant Jon sees his bride, thoughts of conversations with Robb – or _any_ conversation he’s ever had with anyone about anything – flees his mind.

 

Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell, soon to be Lady Snow of the Gift, is truly the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. It stuns him and freezes him and he feels like an idiot because he can’t do anything when near her except stare at her and remind himself to not choke on his own tongue.

 

He wonders what she sees when she looks at him.

 

Her dress that day for their wedding is dark blue and her hair looks even more red because of it, worn down with two braids in a simple Northern fashion and yet, he’s never seen it more beautiful on another woman. Her cloak has the Stark wolf vigil on it and Jon wears the cloak she had gifted to him the night before, he ready to take the Stark off and drape this one over her when the time comes in the ceremony to do so.

 

“Who comes before the Old Gods this night?” Sam asks.

 

“Sansa, of the House Stark, comes here to be wed,” Robb answers. “A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

 

Jon swallows before stepping forward and answering. “Jon, of House Snow, Lord of the Gift. Who gives her?”

 

“Robb, of House Stark, King in the North.”

 

Jon is doing this for Robb. He will not deny that. If Robb, his friend and his King, hadn’t come to him, asking him to marry Sansa, Jon knows that he wouldn’t be marrying anytime soon. He knows that he would have to – eventually – for the purpose of heirs, but if the war had taught him anything, it was that he preferred to keep his own company rather than open himself up to anyone.

 

But Jon isn’t going to deny that there is a part of him that very much wants to marry Sansa.

 

She stands in front of him now, looking nervous, but able to give him the smallest of smiles and Jon does his best to return it to her. He wonders how Robb has explained this marriage to her.

 

_“I’m sending you to the northern most Keep I have to marry a nobody Lord to keep you safe from all of the randy bastards who want nothing more than your name.”_

Robb is always honest and his love for his family has never been a secret. Jon can actually imagine the King saying nearly those exact words to Sansa, not mincing or downplaying it, and from what little Jon has seen from his very-soon-to-be wife, Sansa is no idiot. She understands her duties – probably better than he does.

 

“Lady Sansa, do you take this man?” Sam asks.

 

Sansa nods, her eyes on Jon’s face. “I take this man.”

 

Jon, having been staring at Sansa, not even able to think of anything else, snaps to attention when he steps forward to remove the Stark cloak from her shoulders, turning to hand it off to Catelyn, before he takes his own cloak off and stepping close to her once more, he drapes it around her shoulders, making her a Snow, his wife, and someone he would die to protect.

 

Sansa lifts her eyes to look into his and he is still standing so close to her, he can see her delicate, long eyelashes. He wishes to kiss her. He has wished to kiss her since the very first moment he saw her. And he has some experience with women – not much, but enough – and Sansa is looking at him and Jon can almost swear that she looks like a woman who very much wants to be kissed.

 

With Sansa’s voiced consent of the marriage and Jon wrapping her in his cloak, the wedding is complete. It is a much simpler affair than those in the South, who do not follow the Old Gods, but Sansa is still looking to him and Jon can’t deny that he wants to do something more.

 

Slowly, he lifts his hands to her cheeks, Sansa staring into his eyes; it looking as if perhaps her chest has stopped rising and falling with breath. He is wearing his leather gloves, but he knows that Sansa’s cheeks are cold from the winter winds blowing that night. Closing his eyes, he then leans in and presses his lips to her forehead in the gentlest of kisses.

 

He swears he can feel Sansa give the gentlest press of her forehead more against his lips.

 

There is applause then from those around them and Jon slowly pulls his head back, his eyes opening again to look to Sansa’s face and after moment, Sansa’s eyes open as well, immediately falling into his. Her cheeks look a bit pink to him, but Jon thinks it just might be from the sting of the wind blowing.

 

“Was that…” he begins to ask, but then trails off, not necessarily sure how to finish the question.

 

Sansa gives him a small smile and nod. “Yes,” she answers him as if she knows what he means.

 

The others are still clapping and Jon forces himself to step away from Sansa just enough to take her hand in his. With her free arm, Sansa and Catelyn hug and then Robb hugs her before he claps a hand on Jon’s shoulder. They all begin to follow the torches back to the Keep and Robb walks at Jon’s other side.

 

“I’ve already told everyone that there isn’t going to be a bedding ceremony,” Robb informs him.

 

Jon gives his friend a relieved look at that. He was certain he would be breaking at least one jaw tonight if anyone had tried any kind of bedding ceremony for himself and Sansa. He's nervous enough about bedding his new wife tonight without adding anything else to it. 

 

Inside the Keep, the Hall had been worked in all day to ready it for the wedding feast that evening and when Jon and Sansa, the Lord and Lady of the Gift, walk into the Hall last, the cheers that explode are nearly deafening. Sansa brings herself closer into his side and Jon gives her hand, still tucked into his, a gentle squeeze. The action makes Sansa turn her head to look at him and he manages a small smile; one she is able to return and once again, he is struck at the beauty that is his now-wife.

 

For the wedding feast, there is the boar as well as venison, fish, roasted onion soup, pea and onion pies as well as lemon cakes for dessert. Growing lemons this far North is impossible and Robb had a supply brought with them for Sansa’s wedding dessert. Jon sits at Sansa’s side as they eat and he looks at her when she gasps and the happy smile that bursts across her face when a plate of lemon cakes is placed between them. He smiles at her obvious happiness and he pushes the plate closer to her.

 

Sansa laughs softly – which he can hear perfectly despite the noise in the Hall from everyone celebrating.

 

“It’s probably a good thing we can’t grow lemons near us,” Sansa says and her smile is so beautiful, Jon finds that he can only look at her and do nothing else. “I’d ask for lemon cakes every day and then you would have a very large wife on your hands.” She is smiling and he can see the laughter in her eyes and his smile comes easily now.

 

“I would not mind, my Lady,” he replies to her.

 

Sansa looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Sansa,” he corrects himself and she smiles as she reaches for another cake.

 

He tries to eat his own plate of food and not watch her, but he can’t help himself. This woman is his wife. He has blinked and suddenly, he finds that the war is over, he’s a Lord, of all things, and now he is a husband to the King’s sister. His life has been moving so rapidly, his mind is still having to take the time to catch up with it all. He wonders if Sansa’s own head is spinning and not from the cups of wine in front of them.

 

He wonders if when they are alone that night, he can ask her how she can seem to be so calm about all of this. She is smiling at him and talking with her mother and laughing with her brother and clapping along with the others when one song ends and the musicians begin to play another.

 

It’s because she was always supposed to do this, Jon reminds himself. She has always been expected to marry a complete stranger and be his wife.

 

“May I ask your wife for a dance, my Lord?” Davos suddenly asks, appearing at Jon’s side.

 

Sansa turns her head to look to Jon as well and Jon tries to read her eyes to see if she would like to dance. But she is still smiling and he gives her a nod before looking to Davos.

 

“Of course,” Jon agrees.

 

“My Lady?” Davos then looks to Sansa and holds out his hand.

 

Sansa smiles and her hand goes into his, getting to her feet. “It is my pleasure, Sir Davos.”

 

“No sir, my Lady. And I apologize to your feet in advance,” Jon can hear Davos say to Sansa as they leave the table and he hears Sansa’s light laughter in reply.

 

Jon watches as Davos and Sansa dance on the floor among other dancing couples and he then sees Robb bow to his partner, his partner giving a deep curtsy, and a moment later, Robb has collapsed into his previously empty chair on Jon’s other side.

 

“I did not know there were this many pretty women this far North,” Robb notes as he picks up his cup and instantly, a serving girl from the kitchen has appeared and is pouring him fresh wine.

 

Jon leans back in his seat, taking his own cup with him, the girl also filling it with wine. “I heard your future wife is quite pretty as well.”

 

Robb smiles at that. “After I leave you and my sister, I will return to Winterfell and she will be meeting me there within the month. I will expect you and Sansa to be at the wedding.”

 

“Are you nervous?” Jon wonders.

 

“No,” Robb shakes his head without pausing to think it over. “This is what we Stark children have always known we would have do in our lives.”

 

Jon sees his opening. “I do not know how to be a husband.”

 

Robb sips at his wine and doesn’t seem at all surprised with what Jon has confessed. “Just treat her well, Snow. It’s not hard. Treat her well, listen to her, tell her she’s pretty and all will be well.”

 

That all seems far too easy, in Jon’s opinion, but he’s not going to tell Robb that.

 

Robb takes another sip of wine and then turns towards Jon, moving his head in closer, and Jon follows his lead, moving his head closer to his.

 

“And get her with a child as soon as you can,” Robb advises.

 

Jon pauses at that and looks at him. “Is our marriage that precarious amongst the other Houses?” Jon has to ask. He knows that this was a hurried wedding and he knows that Robb was chosen as King in the North and is respected by all of their people, but being so quick to marry his important sister off to a no one like him, perhaps that would piss more people off than either Jon or Robb would expect.

 

“No,” Robb says and Jon wonders if he should blindly believe that or not. “But it would be best if you two had a child, preferably an heir, sooner rather than later.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading and for giving this story such awesome love and support. Jon and Sansa's wedding night continues in the next chapter.


	6. A Consummation

…

 

**Six. A Consummation.**

Sansa is thankful to both her mother and her Septa for spending so much time, preparing her for this. They talked with her, holding nothing back and getting her equipped with the knowledge for what to expect this night with her husband.

 

Of course, she’s still nervous for it – even with the two cups of wine she had downed during the wedding feast as a way to get her stomach to calm itself. Whether that has worked or not, Sansa is unsure and she is quiet as Jeyne and her mother help her from her dress, leaving her in her white shift underneath and as Catelyn takes out her braids and brushes her hair, Jeyne turns down the bed, dropping a hint of perfume on each pillow, and then making sure that the fire in the hearth is roaring brightly and warmly.

 

And when they are done, Catelyn hugs her tight and murmurs in her hair that she loves her and Jeyne curtsies before Sansa pulls her dear friend into a hug as well.

 

Then, she is alone in her chamber, waiting for her husband to come to her.

 

_“No matter how skilled he might be, it will still hurt your first time,” Catelyn had warned. “Unfortunately, there’s no way around that.”_

 

Robb had declared that there would be no bedding ceremony – even as those in the Hall booed and groaned at the decision – and Sansa had left soon after to get herself ready. Jon had given her a small smile and he had seemed as nervous to her as she knew she probably looked to him, telling her that he would be there soon. Sansa had done her best to give her husband a smile before leaving.  

 

Now, Sansa sits on the side of her bed and waits.

 

There are two doors in her chamber – one that leads out to the hall and another that leads into a private solar. The solar, she knows, is shared with Jon and on the other side is Jon’s chamber. Sansa wonders how he is preparing himself for the night; if he is preparing himself in any special way that she has. Is he as nervous as she is? She hopes he’s not _too_ nervous. She has already planned on following his lead this night.

 

Hearing a quiet knock on the door from the solar, Sansa hurries from the bed and then takes a moment before answering it, smoothing down her shift and taking a deep breath. When she opens it, it’s to Jon, standing there in his own white shift. He looks at her for a moment – staring really – and Sansa wonders what is going through her husband’s mind now as he looks upon her. Her husband. This man is her husband and he is about to share her bed with her.

 

“You look beautiful,” Jon then says, almost in a hushed tone, and Sansa can’t help, but lower her eyes shyly to the floor for a moment before lifting them back to him, giving him a small smile.

 

“Thank you,” she remembers to say and then takes a step back, opening the door wider in silent invitation.

 

Jon gives her a small smile of his own as he steps into the room, pausing when he sees the bed, and Sansa closes the door behind him, closing the two of them in her chamber for the night. She wonders what she is supposed to do. Should she take off her shift straight away so she’s completely naked for him? Her mother and Septa had told her that Jon will show her what she is to do, but she wonders if she should show him that she isn’t afraid even though that’s exactly what she is?

 

Jon turns towards her then. “I want you to know that we don’t have to do anything tonight,” he tells her.

 

Sansa looks at him for a moment and can’t keep from frowning. “We don’t?”

 

“We could just sit or… I could return to my own chambers. We don’t have to do anything unless you want to. The last thing I want to ever do is force you into something you don’t want, Sansa,” Jon says.

 

Sansa studies him for a moment. There are the songs and stories of noble men and knights who love their Ladies and always treat them as gently as glass, but Sansa is not naïve to the real way of things. She knows that most husbands come to the marriage bed, expecting one thing whether their wives want it or not. She actually didn’t know that _not_ having relations on their wedding night was even a possible option.

 

And having this man stand before and tell her that he will do anything that she wants, it makes her heart feel as if it’s tumbling all about in her chest.

 

Who is this man?

 

Sansa takes a step closer towards him and then another, Jon watching her closely. She slowly lifts a hand.

 

“May I?” She asks and Jon nods though she knows that he doesn’t know what she wants to do. His eyes never leave her face as Sansa’s hand slowly moves to the back of his head, releasing his hair from the knot back there, and she watches as his hair falls, black curls falling past his ears.

 

Her hand slowly moves forward again and her fingers brush along his cheek, watching as his eyes drift closed from her first touch. Sansa has never had someone have such a reaction to her touch before; not that she’s ever been in such a position as this before – certainly not – but seeing the way Jon slightly tilts his head towards her fingers as if he’s a cat, looking for more of a scratch, she feels a rush of bravery spreading from the pit of her stomach to every inch of her.

 

Jon’s eyes slowly open and he remains still as he stares at her, obviously waiting for her.

 

Sansa knows that her mother and Septa told her that Jon would tell her what to do, but he isn’t and from what he has said, he won’t. Hopefully, once they’re further along, he will, but for now, Sansa realizes that _he_ is following _her_ lead instead of the other way around and Sansa finds herself silently thanking Robb for taking such care in finding a husband for her; finding a man who, Robb knew, would take care of her.

 

Maybe one day, once they get to know one another better, she and Jon can even come to love one another. Sansa finds that thought not such a far-fetched one at this moment.

 

“I’ve never been kissed,” Sansa hears herself whisper to him. “Will you kiss me, Jon?” She asks boldly.

 

Jon steps as close to her as he can, their chests brushing together, and she sees his hands lift and come to rest on her cheeks. Her eyes begin to flutter shut in anticipation as Jon’s face then moves closer towards her. Her first kiss. She hopes it’s everything she’s ever dreamed of it being.

 

And then Jon’s lips touch hers for the first time and she knows that her dreams hadn’t been anywhere near to being correct. This first kiss – this first kiss with _Jon_ – is more than anything her mind has even thought. It’s soft at first, Jon’s lips barely touching hers, but then, after another moment, there is a bit more pressure from his lips, pressing onto hers, and Sansa knows that he is easing her into it. She is silently grateful for that.

 

She’s unsure of what to do with her hands as she feels Jon’s still cupping her cheeks, cradling her face, and Sansa simply rests her own on his shoulders. She isn’t sure how long he kisses her and she doesn’t mind if he does this for hours now, her lips beginning to become used to the gentle motions of his lips and beginning to press against his. Her head feels as if it’s spinning and she holds onto his shoulders a little tighter, suddenly not trusting her own legs to keep her standing.

 

Jon slowly pulls his lips back from hers. Her heart is racing and her lungs are burning and it takes her another moment for her eyes to be able to open. When she does, she finds herself immediately looking into Jon’s eyes. She finds that he seems to be breathing as quickly as she hears herself breathing. That makes her happy, she realizes; that kissing her seems to have the same effect on him as he affects her.

 

“It’s very hot, standing this close to the fire,” Sansa notes quietly.

 

Jon stares into her eyes. “Would you like to…” he trails off, almost as if he’s unsure of how to finish his question or suggestion and Sansa finds herself smiling faintly despite her stomach tightening with nerves once again as to where this is going to lead.

 

“Yes,” she answers.

 

…

 

Not that she ever thought her mother was, but Catelyn certainly hadn’t lied to her.

 

It hurts. More than she thought it would. She wasn’t sure why she had been expecting it to be just a pinch or a sharp tug like when Arya used to pull her hair when they were little girls, but this is neither a tug or a pinch.

 

She cries out, unable to help herself, and Jon instantly stills himself from above her.

 

Her eyes are shut tightly so she isn’t looking at him, but she can still feel his eyes upon her, staring at her. They are both naked, she able to feel his bare skin against hers – his body tight and muscular; a soldier’s body, she assumes – and with her legs spread, her husband has breached her for the first time.

 

She then feels Jon’s breath on her face as he lowers his head and his lips brush along her cheek.

 

She forces herself to take a deep breath. It’s too late now to stop. She needs to just gather herself so Jon can continue. This is what she is supposed to do. It’s her duty as his wife and Lady Snow. Her mother said that it would hurt the first time – might even be awful – but Catelyn also promised her that if Jon knew what he was doing, the other times would not hurt at all; it might even be pleasant after the first time.

 

Sansa had been so shy as Jon slowly pulled the shift over her head and off her body. She has never been naked for anyone other than her maids at Winterfell and now Jeyne and when she stood naked in front of her husband, she honestly fought the urge to dive under the fur blankets on the bed and hide. But she saw the way Jon’s eyes had gone nearly black as he looked at her body and she thought that perhaps he liked what he saw in front of him.

 

And then when Jon had taken his own off to be just as naked as her, Sansa hadn’t been able to help, but stare. She had never seen a naked man before and she wondered how wide her eyes had been at the sight of _all_ of him because his lips had quirked in the faintest smile and she had felt the urge to let out a giggle. Thankfully though, she hadn't. She can't imagine that a woman laughing at a naked man's body would be the best thing. 

 

But now, she nearly felt the need to look down between her legs to make sure that he had not, in fact, impaled her with something because that is what she imagines being impaled to feel like.

 

_Be brave, Sansa_ , she tells herself in a firm tone and feeling Jon’s lips on her other cheek, Sansa forces her eyes to peel open, tears stinging and threatening to slip out. Jon is holding himself above her and as soon as he sees her eyes open, he lifts his head enough for her to see his whole face.

 

“We can stop,” he offers in a quiet voice and Sansa is so tempted to nod her head and get him off, but she stops herself before she can.

 

She swallows and then shakes her head. “No. I heard the other times will be better if we get through the first.” She looks to Jon as she says that as if waiting for him to tell her that that’s a lie and every time after this that they couple will be just as awful as this.

 

Jon stares into her eyes and Sansa had been so unsure of what to do with her hands, but now, she lifts them and her fingers comb back into his hair, holding his curls back from his face. He dips his head down and presses the gentlest kiss on her lips that nearly makes her forget about the throbbing between her thighs.

 

_Nearly_.

 

Still engrossed in their kiss, Sansa is not paying attention until she feels a sharpness between her thighs that makes her tear her mouth from Jon’s with a sharp gasp.

 

“Did that hurt?” He asks urgently.

 

Sansa pauses before answering. “What was that?” She asks, holding off on his own question for the moment.

 

Staring into her eyes, Jon’s hand is between their bodies and with his thumb, he touches somewhere again on her body that instantly makes her gasp again. She can feel a growing wetness between her thighs and she realizes that that’s her and Jon exhales a shaky breath, Sansa realizing that he’s feeling her wetness, too.

 

Before she can think to be embarrassed though, Jon’s thumb touches _that_ spot again and this time, Sansa feels her hips lift slightly at his touch before she can stop herself.

 

“No,” she finally answers with a shake of her head. “That doesn’t hurt.”

 

Jon gives her the faintest smile and Sansa is able to give a smile just as he leans down, fusing his lips to hers again and this time, when he moves inside of her, his thumb is still touching her and the pain is beginning to fade away as she can feel her hips move slightly again without her even thinking about it. It’s almost as if her body has developed a mind of its own and is acting accordingly.

 

Sansa wonders that if the first time feels like this, what on earth are the next times going to feel like?  

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, as always, for reading and showing this story so much awesome love! Jon and Sansa will have a "morning after" in the next chapter and will finally - FINALLY - talk a bit more!


	7. Their First Morning

…

 

**Seven. Their First Morning.**

Jon can’t find his shirt so after a moment of searching, he simply takes one of the furs from the bed, making sure that Sansa remains covered by the others and wrapping it around his waist, he goes to answer the knock. Sansa’s maid stands there, holding a tray, and she gives him a slight curtsy.

 

“My Lord,” she says.

 

“Thank you…” he can’t remember her name at the moment – having only heard it once before when they had first arrived – and she gives him a small smile.

 

“Jeyne, My Lord,” she reminds him.

 

“Jeyne,” he repeats it so he is more prone to remember it. He should know his wife’s maid’s name.

 

“Breakfast, my Lord, for whenever you and My Lady are hungry,” Jeyne then says, referring to the tray in her hands. “Sir Davos also told me to tell you that no one will bother you until tomorrow morning.”

 

“Thank you, Jeyne,” Jon says as he steps back, opening the door wider for her and making sure that he holds the fur tightly around his waist. Jeyne’s eyes don’t even drift down past his face though as she steps past.

 

Jeyne glances towards the bed as she carries the tray to the table and when she sees Sansa, still deeply asleep, beneath the furs, she smiles faintly. After setting the tray down, she then turns back to Jon and drops down into another curtsy.

 

 “Thank you, Jeyne,” he says again.

 

“Of course, My Lord,” she says and when she leaves the room, Jon closes the door once more.

 

The scents of whatever the cook has prepared for breakfast waft from across the room to his nose and Jon can hear his stomach grumbling. Jon doesn’t want to be crude and think it, but he can’t help himself. He has worked up quite an appetite after the night before with his wife. Sansa, his wife. Lady Snow of the Gift. Lady Snow, his wife.

 

He knows that it had hurt for her and had been uncomfortable – to put it mildly – and Jon feels guilty for it feeling so good for him. He will never tell her such things, but last night, she was wet and tight and when Jon sank into her for the first time, it took everything inside of him to not lose himself right then and there. Not that Sansa would have been aware of how embarrassing that would be, but _Jon_ would be aware and he already hated that she had to be in any sort of pain; he didn’t want to add a disappointing performance to it.

 

He had promised her that it would be better and he doesn’t know if she believed him, but she had given him a small smile at his words and he had kissed her.

 

They had only come together one time the night before and Sansa had fallen asleep soon after. Jon wasn’t surprised. He can’t even imagine how the past two days have been for her – moving away from her home to marry a man she’s never even seen, coming to their marriage bed and having sex for the first time with that man who is now her husband, but still nothing, but a stranger to her…

 

He hadn’t wanted to push her last night and he certainly won’t now. His wife is beautiful and feeling her around him was exquisite, but he will wait for Sansa to come to him for their second time.

 

After she had fallen asleep, Jon had been unable to do the same. With all honesty, he had spent most of the night, watching her sleep beside him.

 

_Treat her well, listen to her, tell her she’s pretty and all will be well._

He kept hearing Robb’s words echoing in his mind over and over again as the flames from the dying fire danced across Sansa’s face. Jon still doubts that marriage is that easy and yet, as he laid on his side, staring at Sansa for hours as she slept, he wants it to be that easy. He wants to make this woman as happy as a woman has ever been. He doesn’t know if that’s possible. He’s certainly not worthy of being married to the King’s sister and he’s not an important enough man to have a beauty like her as his wife, now living up here in this barren tundra with him, but by all the Gods, he wants to try.

 

And isn’t that half the battle? Willing to try even if the fight might seem impossible?

 

Hearing movement from the bed, Jon looks to see that Sansa is beginning to wake. With the fur still around his waist, he begins looking for his shirt again, not understanding how he had lost it.

 

“I stole it for myself,” Sansa speaks suddenly and he spins to the bed to look at her.

 

She is sitting up, a shy look across her face with the other furs pulled around and across her naked body.

 

“Did you now?” Jon asks and he can’t help, but smile faintly as he looks upon her.

 

He expected her to hardly even be able to meet his eyes this morning, but she’s sitting there with her red hair a tousled mess upon her head and she is actually speaking to him.

 

This morning with her has already exceeded his expectations.

 

“You were asleep and I had to use…” her cheeks blush, but she continues after a moment’s hesitation. “The chamberpot. It was the first thing I came across.”

 

Jon does his best to steel himself at her words and not embarrass himself with a morning erection beneath this fur still around his waist that will more than likely terrify her, but the idea of this woman wearing _his_ shirt, it certainly _wants_ to do something to him, he can’t deny that.

 

“Is that alright?” Sansa then asks and he can see that she is perhaps nervous at what his reaction will be.

 

Jon gives her a small smile and a matching small bow. “What is mine is yours, My Lady,” he says and this smile only grows when Sansa smiles then, almost laughing.

 

She points to the floor at the side of her bed and Jon comes around to see his shirt on the floor.

 

He notes the way Sansa turns her head away so she doesn’t watch as he goes across the room to tug the shirt on over his head and once it’s hanging down and covering him, he finally loosens the fur from his waist.

 

“Jeyne has come and brought us breakfast,” he tells her and Sansa peeks at him from the corner of her eye – as if to check – before turning her head towards him fully once more. “No, no,” he shakes his head when her leg peeks out, about to pull herself from the bed. “I’ll bring it to you,” he says, already moving towards the tray on the table.

 

“Like a queen,” Sansa smiles as Jon rests the tray carefully across her lap.

 

Jon can’t help himself and he doesn’t hesitate in doing so. He leans in and kisses the side of her head. Sansa tilts her head up to look at her and he isn’t sure what he expects her reaction to be, but she smiles at him, her cheeks a bit of a darker pink now, and he smiles a little, too.

 

“I must look a fright,” Sansa then says, her hands going to her hair.

 

Immediately, Jon shakes his head. “You’re a vision,” he says in a hushed tone, having never said such a thing to a woman before and he wonders how it sounds, but then he sees Sansa’s blush deepen so he thinks that perhaps is exactly the right thing to say in that moment.

 

He comes around the bed to sit on the other side and Sansa lifts the lid to see what is being offered to them for sustenance. Two cups of cider, two leftover pieces of lemon cake and a large plate of scrambled eggs.

 

Jon helps himself to one of the cups of cider and a piece of lemon cakes.

 

“Do you want any eggs?” Sansa asks, holding up one of the forks.

 

Jon shakes his head. “I vowed to myself I would never eat scrambled eggs again.” Sansa looks at him, silently, waiting for him to continue so he does. “In the war, for so many soldiers and men, scrambled eggs were always the easiest thing to make in masse for everyone. Not to mention the tasteless tact meat we ate, too.”

 

“Is cook aware of this?” Sansa wonders.

 

“He knows. I also know that with so many people here for our wedding, scrambled eggs for breakfast is easiest. You eat your eggs, My Lady,” Jon says and when Sansa looks at him with a raised eyebrow, he gives her a smile. “Sansa,” he corrects himself and Sansa smiles, too.

 

…

 

After they have eaten and the tray has been returned to the table, they lay in bed on their sides, facing one another. Jon has removed his shirt again, but the furs cover him from the waist down. He meant his earlier thoughts. There will be no more moves made unless Sansa is the one to make them.

 

He watches her face as she slowly reaches out and touches one of the multiple scars riddling his chest with feather-light tips of her fingers. He wonders what she is thinking when she looks at them, but he doesn’t ask.

 

“You were not at Robb’s coronation,” Sansa then says in a quiet voice. “I would have met you if you were.”

 

“I would have been there, but Robb needed me to be somewhere else,” Jon answers with a shake of his head. “I had to go North of the wall to finish our treaty with the wildings.”

 

Sansa’s hand slowly moves back from his chest and Jon instantly misses the feel of her fingers.

 

“Have they truly agreed to stop the raids on the Gift?” Sansa wonders.

 

“They are not stupid. They do not follow a King, but they know that if they did, choosing your brother and the North made more sense to them than King Stannis in the South and if the North hadn’t won their independence, that wouldn’t have just affected us, but them as well.”

 

“I met King Stannis,” Sansa tells him. “He didn’t seem very friendly, but what do they say? The head which wears the crown is the heaviest. Maybe Robb will soon have that reputation for himself one of these days.”

 

“I was in a room with him and Robb many times, but I don’t know him to have an opinion. I’m glad Robb is my King and not Stannis though.”

 

Sansa smiles at that and she slips a hand between her cheek and her pillow. Jon doesn’t move his eyes from hers. It feels a bit strange to him to still be lying in bed this late in the morning and yet, lying here with Sansa, there certainly isn’t anywhere else he would rather be in this moment.

 

“Jon,” Sansa breaks through his thoughts.

 

Jon stares to her face, giving her his undivided attention and waiting for her to continue.

 

“The wildings… they steal women, don’t they? They steal them and carry them off and claim them as their own. That’s what I’ve heard.” Sansa’s voice is quiet and he still doesn’t know her different tones at all – yet – but he thinks that his wife might be sounding a little frightened right now.

 

Jon knows that he has already vowed to himself that he would wait for her to make a move and yet, he knows enough to know that right now, he needs to assure her and give her some sense of comfort.

 

Slowly, he inches across the bed closer to her and his hand rests gently on the curve of her waist through the furs that cover her naked body from his eyes.

 

“They won’t, not anymore,” Jon promises her and Sansa moves her head slightly across the pillow, bringing it closer to his. “You are my wife and no one is going to take you from me.”

 

Sansa stares at him and she is quiet and Jon wonders if he should say something else. What, he has no idea. He’s never been the best at talking – not to women at least and not if the conversation isn't centering around battles or swords – and with this woman, this Sansa as his wife, he feels even more lost than he usually does.

 

But it seems as if perhaps Sansa doesn’t want him to talk any longer. Not if the way she dives to him and closes the space between them, her lips pressing firmly to his, is any indication to him of her making the next move.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much as always! I'm very excited to get started on writing their marriage now. In the next chapter, Sansa will begin to settle into life at Queenscrown and discover that the Gift is not taking advantage of something valuable they have. 
> 
> PS: My aesthetic - Sansa's S6 hair.


	8. A New Home

…

 

**Eight. A New Home.**

Sansa stood on the battlements, watching as her brother and her mother and the Stark soldiers left Queenscrown and began their journey back to Winterfell. She stood and did not cry as she watched them become nothing more than dots in the distance. They left to return home and she stayed because she was married now and this was her home now.

 

Afterwards, she took a deep breath, left the battlements and now, she stands at the entrance of the hedge maze with Jeyne to her right and Dorren, the lamb, on her other side, him nosing at the ground.

 

The maze looks even worse being in the daylight then when she had seen it by torchlight. It is completely overgrown, a tangle of vines and weeds, and Sansa had thought that getting the Queenscrown gardens and maze in order would be the perfect first thing to do as the Lady of this Keep, but now, seeing just how much work it will actually be, she can’t help, but frown.

 

Jeyne looks to her and seems to be reading her mind. “What would the Lady Catelyn say?” She asks.

 

Sansa looks to her oldest friend and after taking a deep breath, she’s able to give a smile. “Roll up your sleeves and get to it,” Sansa quotes her mother and Jeyne smiles, too. “Alright,” Sansa takes another deep breath and then loops her arm through Jeyne’s. “Shall we try to find the middle?” She asks.

 

Jeyne smiles and nods and Sansa then looks down to Dorren.

 

“Come on, Dorren,” Sansa says. She has a piece of rope looped around the lamb’s neck. “You must come and keep us safe in the maze.”

 

 _Baaa!_ Dorren replies before skipping forward a step, nearly tripping over his legs as he does so, Sansa and Jeyne both unable to help, but laugh. They step into the maze and begin finding their way through, sometimes coming to a dead end and having to turn to go down another path. If Sansa had thought it looked neglected from the outside, it is nothing compared to walking the interior of the maze.

 

“Maybe I should put my attentions on something else,” Sansa thinks out loud as she helps Jeyne step over a large tree branch in their path.

 

“You’re doing it again, My Lady,” Jeyne says, ignoring the look Sansa gives her for not using her name. “If anyone can get this maze and these gardens in top shape again, it will be you. You’re just letting it seem more daunting than it is.”

 

“This is daunting, Jeyne, and I don’t care for your unwavering confidence in me right now,” Sansa says, giving her friend a mock frown, and Jeyne lets out a laugh. They both stop to help Dorren as the lamb gets tangled in a branch and Sansa picks it up as they continue on their way, holding onto it. “I’d like to find you a husband in our new home,” Sansa then informs her.

 

Jeyne instantly shakes her head. “No, Sansa,” she says quietly, for once, forgetting Sansa’s title. “I’m not meant to be married. Not anymore.”

 

“Why not?” Sansa can’t help, but frown again – and this time, truly meaning it.

 

“Sansa, please,” Jeyne sighs. “I’m a maid. My family is dead. I’m no one anymore. Being able to serve you is honestly all I could ask for in this life.”

 

Sansa manages to refrain from telling her dear friend that she’s being stupid. _Of course,_ she’s someone and _of course_ she should at least still think about marriage. Sansa and Jeyne have been dear friends since they were little girls and had been daydreaming about their weddings for just as long. No matter what Jeyne says, Sansa is not going to believe that _all_ of Jeyne’s childhood dreams have been put away into a box, never to be open again. Sansa is going to look for a husband for her friend and not just tell her about it.

 

She wonders if Jon knows any good men who might be wanting to get married.

 

“We made it,” Sansa breathes with relief once they reach the center of the maze – a large rectangular space with two stone benches and three rather large shrubs planted in between. The shrubs have become overgrown beasts, obviously no one caring for them in a long time, and Sansa notices the red berries growing on the branches with more berries having fallen off and rotting in the overgrown grass.

 

Sansa steps closer to inspect the shrubs and to see what kind of berries are growing. She is still holding onto Dorren’s rope and the lamb trots after her, his nose instantly to the ground, nosing at the fallen berries.

 

“Cranberries,” she gasps softly to herself as she plucks one from the branch and pops it into her mouth.

 

 “You should have washed it first, My Lady,” Jeyne says as she joins Sansa at her side.

 

Sansa doesn’t respond to that; just plucks another cranberry and offers it to Jeyne, who pops it into her own mouth. Sansa smiles and takes another one for herself. She then looks at the other two monstrous plants.

 

It’s apparent that they – like the rest of this maze – have been forgotten. She doubts that anyone from Queenscrown even remembers cranberries growing in the maze and she wonders if they’re growing anywhere else. Cranberries can be quite useful – both for food to sell to the other Northern Houses, but for dye as well. If they discover an abundance of cranberries to harvest, they could even sell their crop to Southern houses who loved their clothing made with bright fabric colors.

 

Feeling an excitement in her belly now, she turns to Jeyne with a smile. “Let’s pick a few to take with us. I must discuss something with My Lord,” she says and she knows that Jeyne can’t possible know what she’s thinking, but Jeyne smiles as if maybe she actually can and together, the two begin picking cranberries, bringing up their skirts to carry them back in.

 

…

 

Sansa and Jeyne stop in the kitchens where the cook hurries to get his Lady a bowl for all of the cranberries and with a smile and “thank you” to him, Sansa then leaves to go see her husband. Dorren has followed her into the kitchen and Sansa doesn’t think to send him back outside.

 

As Sansa walks down the halls towards Jon’s chancery, she smiles and greets everyone she passes. Her mother knows everyone in Winterfell – from the top advisors down to the stable boys – and Sansa is going to be the same. Queenscrown is her Keep now and the Gift is her home and these are her people. _Not_ knowing every single person is not even an option in her opinion. It will also be her duty to help Jon if or when he forgets someone; it up to her to whisper their name into her husband’s ear if he needs it.

 

At the closed chancery door, Sansa raises her fist and knocks, smiling down at Dorren as the lamb stays at her side, letting out another _Baa_ as if that is his version of a knock.

 

“Enter!” Jon’s voice from inside calls out.

 

Sansa feels a flutter in her stomach and she admits that she’s looking forward to seeing him.

 

They have been married for three days now and with Robb still here, Jon had been busy as they worked on Gift business and Sansa had been busy with her mother, Catelyn guiding her through some last minute “Lady of the Keep” lessons. At night, Jon had not knocked on her door again. He would walk her to chamber and kiss her softly on the cheek and quietly bid her good night before going into his own chamber and leaving her alone in hers.

 

She can’t help, but wonder _why_ Jon hasn’t come to her bed again.

 

Of course, she’s going to wonder.

 

They had only come together one time – that first night – and Sansa doesn’t know anything about it, but she knows that it hadn’t been perfect. It probably hadn’t even been good – at least not for her. She worries that it had been so terrible for Jon – that _she_ had been so terrible – that he wishes to never do it with her again.

 

Their first morning had been as perfect as anything that Sansa could have dreamed. Talking a bit and kissing one another, but nothing more than that. Does he want anything more with her than that? 

 

Sansa tells herself to not even think of that possibility though. In the short time they have spent together, Sansa has found that she likes her husband. Very much. And there are far worse men her brother could have married her off to, she knows. She had thought that he had liked her, too, and perhaps he does. Just not like _that_ , but Sansa won’t dwell on that until she’s lying in her bed tonight. Alone.

 

Right now, she must speak to her husband on other matters.

 

She pushes open the door and the instant Jon, sitting at his desk, sees that it’s her, he hurries to his feet.

 

“Sansa,” he says her name in that quiet, low voice of his.

 

At first, when she had first heard him say her name, she had shivered and had thought it to be the strong, cold winds of the Gift that made her shiver, but now, three days as his wife, Sansa knows that it’s Jon and the way he says her name and the way he looks at her that makes her shiver.

 

She isn’t surprised that she shivers now.

 

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she says, giving him a small smile before looking to Davos, standing at the desk as well. When he sees her looking at him, Davos gives her a bow of his head and she smiles at him as well.

 

“No, you’re not,” Jon shakes his head quickly. She notes that he looks tired. “We were just…” he trails off as his eyes drop down to Dorren, having stepped into the room with Sansa and is now sniffing at the ground. “There’s a lamb,” he then states and Sansa can’t help, but let out a laugh.

 

“There is, My Lord,” she smiles down to her little Dorren before looking back to Jon and Davos. “I have found something,” she tells them both, crossing the room to Jon’s desk. She notes the stacks of papers covering seemingly every spare inch of surface.

 

She wonders if she could help Jon with any of it. She wonders if Jon would let her help him with any of it.

 

“Jeyne and I were in the garden maze just now and look what we found.” She can’t help, but smile as she sets the bowl of cranberries down on the desk. “There are bushes of them and there might be even more growing in the maze. Fresh cranberries.”

 

Jon and Davos look down to the bowl as if they’ve never seen such a thing. And maybe they haven’t. They have been soldiers for years and even before that, depending on their lives before the war, some people never have the opportunity to ever eat fresh fruit.

 

“Try some!” She encourages them with an eager smile.

 

Jon and Davos both pause another moment – as if they don’t know what to expect – before each taking a single berry and putting them in their mouths.

 

“If we have other bushes, we can harvest them and it can be another export from the Gift,” Sansa tells them both. “Fresh fruit is always wanted by the Houses no matter where they are. Also, cranberries can be used for dyes in cloth. That would certainly fetch us a pretty bit of coin.”

 

She’s excited. She can’t help it. They’re just cranberries, yes, but the Gift has been so desolate – almost forgotten by nearly everyone other than the Night’s Watch and the Wildings for so long – Sansa feels that any little bit of anything good should be a cause of celebration. And this is what Robb wants and why he has sent Jon - and then her - to come here. He wants to make Queenscrown one of the great Keeps and House Snow one of the great Houses of the North. 

 

“Well?” Sansa awaits their verdict.

 

“Bitter,” Davos speaks first.

 

“Yes,” Sansa agrees. “It’s an acquired taste.” She then looks to her husband for his thoughts. “I know we have onions and asparagus-”

 

“We don’t,” Jon interrupts with a shake of his head. He takes another cranberry and sits down once again and then looks to the chair across from him on the other side of the desk. Sansa takes his silent invitation and lowers herself into it.

 

“We don’t?” She repeats.

 

Jon shakes his head again. “The asparagus fields…” he sighs and takes a piece of paper from one of the stacks, holding it out towards Sansa so she can take and read it. “Reports from the farmers. The fields were ruined during one of the battles. We just have a fraction of what the Gift used to produce and asparagus take years to cultivate so we have onions, but no longer any asparagus.”

 

Sansa reads the report for herself. Her family had tried to shelter her during the war, but when Catelyn had gone to join Robb on the front, after Ned's death, Sansa had been left as Lady of Winterfell, in charge of the home and her younger brothers. She did not know all of the war’s battles – it seemed like there had been so many battles – but she knew there had been one in the Gift, between Stannis Baratheon’s forces and the Wildings as well as those soldiers that had been formed from the Gift and the northern most regions. Apparently, the asparagus fields had been torched during the fight.

 

Sansa lifts her eyes to look to Jon and sees him taking another cranberry.

 

“The Gift always had a larger harvest of onions, but the asparagus is what brought in most of the region’s money,” Davos tells her.

 

Sansa nods, understanding. Asparagus would be considered a delicacy. Onions, not so much.

 

Dorren lets out a _baa_ and Sansa bends down, lifting the lamb up and setting him in her lap, and she runs one hand down his body, feeling his soft wool under her fingers as she hands the paper back to Jon.

 

“Well,” she gives Jon another smile as his eyes settle on her. “Let’s see what our cranberries can do.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much as always! Jon and Sansa alone time in the next chapter.


	9. Who Are You

…

 

**Nine. Who Are You.**

He can’t sleep. Again. For the past couple of nights, he has tossed and turned, eventually drifting off into a light sleep, but certainly not a sleep deep or long enough to make him feel well-rested the next morning.

 

Jon likes to pretend as if he doesn’t know the reason behind his sudden bout of insomnia. He tells himself that it’s because of all of the issues and problems that seem to face him each new day with his new title, but that’s not the truth and he only admits that to himself – finally – when it’s night like this, the darkest hour when it seems like the whole world is asleep except for him and he lays in his bed, staring upwards and trying to convince himself that this is the right thing to do and this is the right place for him to be.

 

Jon has only shared one night with Sansa in her bed and he can still hear the way she breathes while she sleeps. Their night together, he had hardly slept at all and yet, he hadn’t felt tired. Lying next to Sansa in her bed, for the first time in a very long time, he had actually – finally – believed that after everything, he was still here in this world and he was still alive.

 

He now lays in his bed alone and he wonders if Sansa is able to sleep. He hopes she is. There isn’t a reason why both of them should be awake. He’s the stupid one. Not Sansa. Actually, in these past few days, Sansa has proven herself the one born for this role. Perhaps, he should make the Lady Snow of the Gift in charge of everything and he could concentrate on training the Gift’s soldiers or helping in the onion fields. Jon feels as if that’s all he’s meant to do; not be Lord over an entire land or people. Who is he? He’s just Jon Snow, General of the war and son to an innkeeper’s maid, incapable of sleep because he wishes his wife’s company.

 

With a heavy sigh, Jon pulls himself from the bed and crosses the room to stoke the low flames in the hearth, bringing them up once more. He wonders what Sansa will do if he goes and knocks on her door right now. There’s only one reason a husband would knock on his wife’s door at this hour and Jon doesn’t want Sansa to think that that’s all he wants from her. Truly. He certainly wouldn’t mind, of course, if they were to couple again, but besides that, he truly just wants to lie in bed with her again.

 

He sinks himself down into the chair in front of the fire and watches the flames.

 

He’s not good at this and he doesn’t understand why Robb ever thought he would be. He’s not a Lord or a husband. He’s a soldier. That’s all he’s ever been and has never had aspirations to be anything more than that. But then the war happened and with it, _everything_ changed and would never go back to the way it was. How could it? Too many people had died, too many things had been done and seen; Jon has killed too many men, he has difficulty counting them all.

 

How does a man go from always being dirty with blood to sitting at a desk and ruling over his own House?

 

Jon doesn’t think there _is_ a way.

 

At first, he thinks he is just imagining it; hearing things because they are things he wants to hear. But, after another moment passes, he hears it again. The faintest of knocks on the second door in his chamber; the one that leads into his and Sansa’s shared solar. His throat instantly closes up at the sound of it because there’s truly only one person in this keep who would be knocking on that door.

 

Jon nearly trips over his own feet, he stands up so quickly.

 

“Sansa,” he breathes her name once he opens the door and sees that it is, in fact, his wife standing there.

 

She is wearing a white nightgown and her red hair is pulled into a simple braid over her shoulder. Her feet are bare and she wears nothing around her shoulders.

 

Jon does not even think for a moment before he gently takes her hand and pulls her into his chamber. “You must be freezing,” he says as he guides her to one of the chairs in front of the fire and as she sits, Jon goes to tug one of the furs from of his bed. “There we are,” he says, wrapping it around her shoulders.

 

“Thank you,” she says softly, tilting her head up to look to his face.

 

Jon finds himself unable to move from his spot. His wife’s eyes are on him and he has never felt so powerless before. Right now, Sansa could ask him for absolutely _anything_ and he would do absolutely anything to grant her wish. Of course, even if she wasn’t looking at him as she is now, Jon knows that he would still try his best to do anything for her.

 

Sansa reaches out slowly and her fingers curl themselves around his hand. “May I sleep in here tonight?” She asks him then and Jon wonders if he’s actually heard her ask that or if he’s just imagined it because never would he even think that Sansa would ask him such a thing.

 

“Of course,” he answers her. He then pauses and swallows. “With me?” He then feels the need to ask.

 

In the firelight dancing across her face, he sees the pink of her cheeks and she smiles. “Yes, Jon,” she says, still in that soft voice that gives him a tightness in his belly – and other parts of his body.

 

Best to shield that as best as he can from Sansa though. She wants to sleep in his bed; not be mounted like they are both a pair of animals in the yard.

 

Sansa rises, the fur still around her shoulders, and Jon takes a step back so they’re not stepping on one another’s toes. Her fingers are still holding onto his hand and when she goes to his bed, he follows.

 

“Which side do you sleep on?” She asks him.

 

Jon looks at her for a moment as if he’s never been asked such a question. And he hasn’t. There had been a woman before Sansa, but they hadn’t shared an actual bed and if they had, they weren’t the sort to have sides. There is something almost far too intimate about having a designated side of the bed while another person has the other, but Jon takes the time to remind himself that this woman is his wife and if he is ever to have a side of any bed in the world, it would be with this woman he is married to.

 

“Is there a side you prefer?” He asks her in return.

 

Sansa gives him a faint smile and facing the bed from the foot of it, Sansa moves towards the left side. Jon is pleased with that decision because that would give him the right side; the side closest to the main door of the room – the door that, if anything happens and someone bursts in, Jon will be the first in the path of it and he will be able to protect Sansa.

 

After Sansa climbs into his bed, Jon does the same on his side and he makes sure the furs and blankets are covering them both as Sansa removes the fur from around her shoulders and lays it over them as well.

 

Jon remains sitting up, deciding how he should lay down – on his back, perhaps, or facing her – and he watches as Sansa lays down, rolling onto her side towards him and Jon decides to mirror her.

 

They are quiet as they lay there, looking at one another, and the only sound is the cracking and popping of the fire in the hearth. He expects Sansa to close her eyes and go to sleep, but she doesn’t. She continues to look at him in the somewhat darkness of the chamber and Jon finds himself keeping as still as he can; wanting to let her look her fill of him without causing her to stop.

 

It has not taken him any time at all to realize that he very much likes it when his wife looks at him.

 

“Jon?” She speaks then, breaking into his thoughts.

 

“Sansa?” He replies with a faint smile and that makes her smile, too, but then it fades from her face. Something about it – the smile there one moment and then gone the next – causes Jon’s own frown to form and he reaches a hand out, letting it touch her cheek. “What is it?” He asks.

 

“I know our wedding night was not the best,” she says.

 

Jon admits, that’s the last thing he would have expected Sansa to say.

 

Of course, he doesn’t know Sansa well enough in the least to expect anything.

 

“But… perhaps we can do it again?”

 

Again, this is the _last_ thing he thought would ever leave her mouth.

 

“If you would like,” Jon manages to say and he knows he doesn’t sound exactly enthused about the prospect of being intimate again with his wife, but he can’t help his tone. He knows he has vowed to himself to wait for Sansa to initiate things between them their next time, but he hasn’t been expecting it be this night.

 

Sansa looks at him for a moment, a slight furrow between her eyebrows. “Was it truly that awful?” She asks.

 

“Of course not,” Jon immediately does his best to assure her and he moves closer to her. “I know it wasn’t the best for you and I thought that giving you some time before we did it again would be what you wanted.”

 

Sansa is quiet at that and she goes back to looking at him; her eyes intensely set on his face.

 

“I only thought men like you lived in my songs and stories,” Sansa then says in a voice so quiet, it almost doesn’t reach Jon’s ears.

 

“Men like me?” He wonders.

 

“Good, honorable and kind men,” she clarifies for him though in all honesty, that explanation just leaves Jon more confused. “My brother could have married me to any man in the North or in the Six Kingdoms, but he chose you to marry me to.”

 

“A nothing Lord in a nothing holding,” Jon concludes, assuming that that’s what she means to say.

 

Sansa shakes her head and she moves herself closer to him, the space between them closing. Jon finds himself nearly holding his breath as Sansa lifts a hand and rests it upon his cheek, her eyes staring into his as her thumb lightly begins grazing back and forth across the hair of his beard.

 

Jon’s not sure what it is, but it feels as if perhaps his heart is no longer beating. It certainly feels like that. His chest grows tight and seems to have stopped moving up and down.

 

And all from his wife putting a gentle and innocent hand on him.

 

“I know there’s still so much we need to know about one another, but _nothing_ is far from the way I would even think to describe you, Jon,” Sansa then says to him.

 

“Who are you?” Jon whispers and doesn’t even realize he has voiced the question out loud until Sansa moves her head ever so slightly even closer to his.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

He shakes his head and debates whether or not to explain himself, but then figures he needs to; to his wife if not to anyone else.

 

“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” Jon tells her as his own hand lifts to rest over hers still on his cheek.

 

Not that he has any kind of expertise on highborn, noble women. The only noble woman he had ever had any sort of interaction with  for any period of time is Catelyn Stark and that woman is a force all on her own. He doesn’t know if there’s any woman like her. But Sansa, she has been raised and taught with all of the manners and lessons of how to be a Lady of station for her entire life.

 

The life Jon has now is the life Sansa has always been meant to have.

 

And if he’s being honest with himself, he just always assumed that any woman of any station was a snotty brat who wasn’t capable of doing anything. But then, he married Sansa Stark and now, three days later, he’s already learned how very wrong he has been about just nearly everything when it comes to women.

 

“Is that a good thing?” Sansa asks and Jon can tell that she’s truly wondering that.

 

Jon knows that he could tell her with words – or at least attempt with words – but instead, his eyes staring into hers, he moves his head towards hers, his hand going to her cheek and his lips find hers.

 

The instant he kisses her, he can feel Sansa kissing him back and Jon swears his heart is beating again.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some fluff. Thank you, as always, for reading and being awesome and so supportive of this story! In the next chapter, there will be some unexpected visitors to Queenscrown and I will finally reveal who Robb's soon-to-be-wife is!


	10. Happiness

…

 

**Ten. Happiness.**

“A raven has arrived for you, My Lady,” Kitty, the head maid in the Keep, informs her, stepping forward to pass the rolled piece of parchment to Sansa.

 

“Thank you, Kitty,” Sansa smiles at her warmly as she takes it. “Could you please let Cook know that I’ll be there soon to speak with him about tonight’s supper?”

 

“Certainly, My Lady,” Kitty smiles and with a quick curtesy, she leaves Sansa, with Jeyne, in her solar.

 

Sansa sets her sewing aside to look at the parchment in her hand, turning it over and once she sees the wax seal and the familiar family crest engraved into it: a white merman, carrying a trident – the House Manderly of White Harbor family seal, she knows exactly who has sent her a letter.

 

She breaks it open and unfolds it, looking at the script in front of her, her eyes drifting down to the bottom where it is signed. Sure enough, it’s from her soon to be sister-in-law, Wynafryd Manderly.

 

She has met Wynafryd a few times, the Manderly family a noble family of the North, one of the most powerful and loyal to House Stark while also being the richest Northern family due to controlling the largest settlement in the North. It’s no wonder to _anyone_ why Robb has brokered a marriage contract between himself and the Manderly eldest daughter, Wynafryd. It was the smartest choice for him to make.

 

Robb had been contacted by several Houses in the South for possible marriages, but Robb had swiftly ignored those. He wasn’t interested in brokering deals between the North and South – not anymore. The North had won their independence and that was in _all_ things. It’s Robb’s goal to unite the North through marriages and children and a marriage between a Stark and a Manderly makes perfect sense.

 

 _Dear Sansa,_ the letter begins. _I hope this finds you well and that you don’t mind my writing you. I know we have met a few times before, but still do not know one another well enough yet to perhaps begin a correspondence between us, but I hope that will change. I am very much looking forward to being a part of your family and can only hope that you look forward to my joining. I also hope that as I work to be a good wife to your brother, the King, you and I may develop some sort of friendship between us._

_I know you have gotten married recently yourself and I hope your own marriage is going well thus far._

Sansa reads that sentence and feels her cheeks grow a bit pink from it. What an understatement that is. She is still learning how to be married and how to be a wife, but she thinks she is doing well at both. She and Jon certainly like one another and she’s thankful for that every day. Liking one’s husband in an arranged marriage such as theirs is not always a possibility, Sansa knows. She keeps meaning to write her brother a letter to thank him because, somehow, Robb seems to have known that she and Jon would like one another. How could he have known that? She doesn’t want to call her brother an idiot because he’s certainly not, but paying attention to things such as this has never been one of his stronger suits.

 

But she and Jon do like one another – very much – and falling in love with her husband, maybe one day even soon, seems almost inevitable to Sansa now instead of just a hope. He’s kind and gentle and everything she has ever dreamed of her someday husband being.

 

The night before, Sansa had been lying in her bed, wondering about her husband; wondering why he didn’t come to her bed again; wondering what was wrong with _her_ that he saw that would keep him away.

 

And finally, after tossing and turning for far too long in her opinion, Sansa knew the only way to get any answers to the questions that wouldn’t leave her mind would be to go on and ask him straight to his face. She hadn’t known that her sudden bout of bravery would lead to one of the best nights of her life.

 

Lying in bed with Jon, talking with Jon, Jon kissing her, Jon slowly placing his body above hers, Jon slowly pulling her nightgown up her body and over her head, Jon slowly parting her thighs…

 

“You’re looking rather flushed, My Lady,” Jeyne smiles then, probably knowing exactly what Sansa is thinking about at this particular moment.

 

Sansa gives her friend a glare she doesn’t mean and Jeyne laughs as she continues with her own sewing and Sansa stands up to go to her desk so she can write Wynafryd a reply. She hopes that her brother and Wynafryd like one another and they will have a marriage as she finds herself already having with Jon. Finding herself to be so happy, Sansa only wants everyone to be just as happy now, too.

 

As she dips her pen into the ink pot, her eyes lift to look to Jeyne. And she doesn’t care what Jeyne says. Wanting everyone happy most certainly includes Jeyne, too. She wonders when a good time to talk with Jon about any good, single men he knows will be.

 

But towards Jeyne, she also doesn’t want to be annoying. There are few things more annoying than an overly-happy person who rubs it in the face of everyone around them whether they mean to rub or not.

 

…

 

“No!” Sansa snaps at the great white beast before her as he bares his teeth and growls.

 

 _Baa!_ Dorren stares down at the beast from the security of Sansa’s arms and though Sansa can feel the small lamb trembling, she also knows he’s trying to appear brave.

 

The direwolf gets himself lower to the ground, his eyes never leaving Dorren, and Sansa knows that he is going to pounce at any moment. She and Dorren had been in the Godswood, Sansa seeing how much attention and care the neglected woods will need – and quite a bit from what she has seen so far – when the white animal had seemed to appear out of nowhere, his red eyes set on Sansa and Dorren and nothing else.

 

She suddenly regrets telling Jeyne to stay behind in the Keep to finish her sewing. If this direwolf mauls her dead and devours Dorren, how long will it be until someone finds the tattered remains of her body?

 

“Ghost!”

 

She hears her husband shouting from a distance away and she nearly shouts back, to alert him that she’s here, but she doesn’t want the direwolf to think that’s making a move to attack him herself. Standing still might be the best course of action; but how long that will give her, she’s not sure. Holding Dorren isn’t giving her even the opportunity to grab a stick from the ground and swipe at the beast. She could put the lamb down, she knows, but she won’t dare. Direwolves move quickly – memories of Lady hunting on her mind now – and putting Dorren down for even a second is all the time this direwolf will need in snatching him in his jaws. The only think Sansa can do is hold her lamb and pray that her husband find hers in time.

 

“Ghost!” Jon shouts again and he’s sounding closer.

 

Sansa decides to risk it.

 

“Jon!” She shouts, her voice echoing into the sky.

 

Seconds later, Jon bursts through the trees and within a second, his eyes take in the scene.

 

“Ghost!” He snaps harshly and snaps his fingers as well.

 

The direwolf – apparently named Ghost – listens to the command and he slowly sits himself down and his mouth closes, hiding his teeth, but his body is still tense and he doesn’t blink his red eyes away. But seeing that he’s no longer in the attack position, Sansa releases a breath that has been burning in her lungs and she feels her knees grow weak beneath her.

 

“Sansa,” Jon rushes to her just as she begins to fall.

 

“I’m alright,” she says even as she is kneeling, trying to catch her breath as if she’s just run a great distance.

 

Jon is kneeling in front of her and takes Dorren from her, holding the lamb with one arm as he lifts his other hand to her face, palming her cheek.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says though she’s not sure why he is apologizing.

 

“Is he… is he yours?” Sansa manages to ask even with her heart still racing.

 

“Yes,” Jon looks over his shoulder back at the direwolf, giving him a fierce frown, and Ghost lets out a small whine of shame, bowing his head. He looks back to Sansa. “He’s been north of the wall and has just come back today,” he tells her.

  
Sansa manages a smile. “A wonderful greeting,” she is able to tease and finally – _finally_ – she can feel her heart returning to a normal beat beneath her breast.

 

Jon doesn’t smile though as he stares at her, his hand still on her cheek and his eyes staring into hers with unbroken intent. “Are you alright?” He asks her in a soft, low voice.

 

“I am,” Sansa nods without pause. “Truly. He just…” she decides not to finish that.

 

The direwolf _has_ frightened her nearly to death, but she’s fine now and Jon’s here and this direwolf, Ghost, is her husband’s. She’s alright now. Both she and Dorren are alright.

 

Her eyes go to Dorren in Jon’s arm and she smiles, petting the lamb with both hands. _Baa!_ Is his response.

 

“Ghost,” Jon says and the direwolf approaches them slowly, his head still down, knowing that he’s done wrong. “This is my lady wife, Sansa, and this is Dorren. You are to never hurt either of them,” Jon orders.

 

Ghost lifts his head enough to look at Jon with his red eyes and lets out a whine. Sansa thinks it might be the direwolf’s way of agreeing to that.

 

“Hello, Ghost,” Sansa smiles to him. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

 

 _And thank you for not ripping my throat out,_ she adds silently in her head.

 

Ghost moves his head to look at Sansa and he shuffles forward, keeping his bottom on the ground, and Sansa smiles, reaching a hand out – slowly so not to startle him – and he gives him a rub behind his ear; the ear where Lady had absolutely loved getting a rub and Ghost seems to be the same if the way the direwolf practically turns his head completely into Sansa’s palm is any indication.

 

She can see Jon’s lips twitching in a smile from the corner of her eye and he gently sets Dorren down again.

 

“I didn’t know you had a direwolf,” Sansa then says.

 

Jon gives a single nod. “He found me north of the wall while I was there with Robb and some of the others, making negotiations with the wildlings. For some reason, he chose to stay with me.” Jon reaches a hand out now and rubs Ghost’s other ear and the direwolf looks to be in absolute heaven now, his eyes closed and his tail wagging, sweeping back and forth across the ground.

 

“He comes and goes then?” She asks.

 

“He seems happy enough that we have settled in the Gift, but sometimes, it’s still too South for him and he’ll disappear for a bit before popping up again,” Jon says. “And scaring my wife and her lamb half-to-death apparently.”

 

Ghost bows his head again at that and Sansa can’t help, but smile.

 

“Well, he _does_ seem truly sorry for that,” Sansa says and Ghost turns his head towards her palm again.

 

“Speaking of the wildlings…” Jon pauses to clear his throat and Sansa looks to him. “A few have also arrived today with Ghost. They are here now.”

 

Sansa looks at her husband, wondering how she is supposed to react to that news. She has never seen the free folk; has only heard stories of them from her father, her brother and her septa – stories always told in warnings to be careful around them. Their ways are not the ways Sansa is used to and though she knows that they helped Robb – and the North – in the war, Sansa can’t help, but feel a bit frightened at this news.

 

Her stomach knots.

 

“Oh?” She manages to speak to that.

 

“Tormund has become a good friend,” Jon continues as he rises to his feet and then helps Sansa to hers. “He can be a bit crude, but he’s still a good man after you get used to him.”

 

“Alright,” Sansa nods even as she feels her throat go dry.

 

She and Cook have discussed supper that evening – the first batch of cranberries have been picked and they will be fed to those in the Keep tonight as a cranberry sauce with salted pork. She still needs to talk with Jon about building bogs in the lake for their future cranberries.

 

She doesn’t know what wildings eat. She imagines they eat anything that those below the Wall eat, but she can’t be sure. Will they sit at the head table with her and Jon? Is she to give them guest rooms and beds for the night? There is still so much work being done around the Keep and she tries to remember which rooms are fit for visitors.

 

“Is there anyone else or just Tormund?” She asks as they begin to walk from the Godswood, her arm tucked into her husband’s as Dorren walks at her other side and she can feel Ghost walking behind them all.

 

Finding one room for one visitor will be much easier than finding a batch of them for a group of visitors.

 

“There is also Del and Lenyl and…” Jon pauses then and Sansa looks to him, able to see him visibly swallow before he says the final name. “And there is Ygritte. Four in all.”

 

Sansa nods, her eyes still on her husband’s face and she still doesn’t know him nearly as well enough to be able to read his facial expressions, but there’s something there now that she thinks might be nerves.

 

Why would Jon be nervous? And if he’s nervous about these wildings here at their Keep, for any reason, surely she should be nervous, too.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there are some stories with Robb/Wynafryd Manderly, but it's not a popular ship and I have never read/written it before so I hope too many people aren't disappointed with Robb's intended. THANK YOU so, so much for reading and being so awesome with your love for this story. There is a bit of drama coming for the happy couple in the next chapter as Sansa meets some of the free folk for the first time.


	11. Visitors

…

 

**Eleven. Visitors.**

Already, Jon knows that he has made a mistake.

 

He just has no idea how to fix it and even if he did, he feels that, perhaps, it’s a bit too late now as he and Sansa enter the courtyard together.

 

He thought he would have more time to tell her and any talking they have done prior to this moment had never felt like the right moment to tell her. They had just gotten married. They had only coupled together twice now and though he likes being with his wife in that matter – _immensely_ likes it – he knows that Sansa is still getting comfortable with the act. It was hardly a conversation to have with her before they came together and after, as they laid in bed together, Sansa giving him shy smiles and Jon touching her cheek and brushing strands of hair back from her face with light fingers.

 

That definitely wasn’t the time to tell his wife about an ex-lover of his.

 

He has barely told her anything about himself and the same goes for her in return. They are still learning all there is to know about one another and there is _so_ much that must be talked about between them. And right now, entering the courtyard with Sansa’s arm through his is far from the right moment to pull her aside for a quick moment and tell her that one of the wildlings here, in their home, is one he knows rather intimately.

 

 “My Lady,” Jon begins as they stop in front of the four and he then pauses to clear his throat because his voice sounds rough and hardly recognizable. “May I introduce Tormund, Del, Lenyl and Ygritte. This is my wife, Lady Sansa of the Gift,” he makes the proper introductions though he supposes that with this lot of visitors, propriety isn’t that necessary.

 

None of the four bow – not that Jon was waiting for them to and he doubts that Sansa is expecting it – but Tormund gives her a grin and Del gives a small smile. Lenyl doesn’t do anything – just stares at Sansa and Jon – but that’s exactly what Jon expects from that man. That man has two facial expressions. Blank or angry.

 

But Jon hardly pays attention to them – just enough to make sure that they don’t do anything to embarrass Sansa – and instead, he focuses his eyes on Ygritte, to watch her far closer than the others, but it seems like Ygritte isn’t even aware of _him_ as she stares at Sansa.

 

Sansa smiles politely at all of them. “Welcome to our home.”

 

Ygritte lets out a snort then at that and Sansa’s eyes rush to look at the only female among the group. Jon knows that Sansa doesn’t know how to respond to that and he can tell that she’s nervous, her throat bobbing down and then up again as she smiles. This is her first interaction – ever with the Wilding Free Folk – and Jon knows that in all of her training and lessons of being a Lady, this particular situation was never broached.

 

Tormund lets out a laugh then – so loud, it echoes in the courtyard and bounces of the stones of the Keep.

 

“Well, at least we know you have a type, Snow!” The large man exclaims good-naturedly and slaps a heavy hand onto Jon’s back, nearly throwing him forward a step.

 

Jon gives a quick glare to Tormund – who, just a second ago, Jon considered a friend until the man opened his mouth – before his eyes fly to Sansa at his side. She is not an idiot. Jon knew that about her the second he met her and it isn’t as if Tormund is exactly dancing and beating around any type of bush. Two women; two red-heads standing in front of one another. Even an idiot would be able to crack Tormund’s weak code.

 

No, his wife isn’t an idiot.

 

He knows the instant she figures it out. Her arm is stiff through his and her back becomes impossibly straight. Jon wishes he can say something to her – what he doesn’t know – but he knows that in front of others is neither the time or place.

 

“My Lady?”

 

Davos appears at Sansa’s other side and Sansa turns her head towards him as Jon’s advisor whispers something into Sansa’s ear. Whatever it is, it makes her give the softest sigh of relief and she smiles faintly at the older man before looking back to their four guests.

 

“We are getting rooms prepared for you. Would you please come inside?” Sansa says as she slips her arm from Jon’s and she then holds her hands folded in front of her.

 

Jon doubts anyone else would notice, but he does. Immediately.

 

Sansa takes the smallest step away from him; as if she can’t bear to stand next to him a moment longer. He looks to her, desperate to have her turn her head to look at him – even if it’s just a quick glance from the corner of her eye – but Sansa Snow gives him nothing as she proceeds into the Keep with Del and Lenyl following behind. Ygritte lingers a moment behind, looking to Jon, but Jon watches Sansa walk away and doesn’t even spare Ygritte a moment’s thought. Finally, with an aggravated sigh, Ygritte sighs and turns to go into the Keep as well.

 

Jon grabs Tormund’s arm. “Keep Ygritte’s mouth shut around Sansa,” Jon orders his friend in a growl. “I don’t want her saying anything and upsetting Sansa.”

 

Tormund gives him a grin. “I didn’t know if Ygritte coming with us was a good idea, but then I guessed you might not like your new wife and be in desperate need of company.”

 

Jon doesn’t say anything to that. He just gives Tormund the fiercest frown he can and a rough shove and Tormund laughs, heading into the Keep after the others. As soon as he is on his own, Jon sighs heavily.

 

“Thank you,” he then says, knowing that Davos hasn’t left him. “I know the Lady Sansa is nervous so thank you for helping her where I have already failed.”

 

Davos shrugs at that, his hands clasped behind his back. “A Lady like your wife would give any guest the best chamber in the Keep, which is something we don’t have at the moment. And she doesn’t know, yet, that even if we _did_ have it, that lot here now wouldn’t want it anyway.”

 

“Still, thank you.”

 

Feeling something pressing against his legs, Jon looks down to see that it’s Dorren. “Ghost,” Jon says to his direwolf without having to even look to know that Ghost is nearby and staring down the little lamb.

 

Jon bends down and picks up Dorren before turning and placing him in Davos’ arms. But then, after a moment, he takes Dorren back into his arms and Davos gives him an amused smile.

 

“I need to return him to my Lady wife and hopefully, if I’m holding her beloved lamb, she won’t strike me,” Jon explains and Davos chuckles.

 

“You think My Lady is the sort to hit you?” Davos asks.

 

“No,” Jon doesn’t have to think before answering.

 

Of course, he’s never seen Sansa Snow angry, but he’s hoping that violence upon her husband wasn’t part of her Lady-of-the-Keep training. She’s so sweet though… he can’t imagine his wife getting so angry, that she wishes to reign violence down on him.

 

But if she does, Jon knows he’ll deserve it. This is less than an ideal situation. He knows Sansa was a maid coming to their marriage bed, but if she hadn’t been and all of a sudden, he stood face-to-face with the man who had shared a bed with her before him… well, Jon isn’t so certain the man would leave here without his face meeting Jon’s fist first.

 

It has only been a week – less than that – since he saw her for the first time and they were wed and Jon already finds himself with such deep feelings for his wife. He never wants to cause her hurt in any form.

 

Carrying Dorren and Ghost following behind, with Davos going on ahead to see if Lady Sansa needs any further help, Jon heads into the Keep as well.

 

“She’s a proper little thing.”

 

“Seven hells,” Jon swears and then gives Ygritte, who has been waiting just inside for him, frowns at her.

 

Ygritte just smiles. “Cute lamb, Jon Snow.”

 

Jon finds himself holding Dorren just a little bit tighter; as if expecting Ygritte to clear snatch it from his arms. “He was a wedding present for my wife,” he informs him.

 

Ygritte’s smile drops just a bit. “So, you’re really married, then? Off to do whatever your King says? Do you wait for his permission before you wipe your arse, too?”

 

Jon sighs and doesn’t say anything to that. What would be the point? Ygritte has never understood anything about Jon or his loyalty to Robb Stark or anything that didn’t happen North of the Wall. And the thing that always wore on Jon’s patience about Ygritte was that she never _wanted_ to understand. That obviously hasn't changed.

 

 “Obvious you didn’t tell her about us,” Ygritte continues.

 

Jon almost asks her what would the point of that be, but he stops himself before he can. He knows he should have told Sansa. He still wants to tell her – before Ygritte can or Tormund makes another crude comment while in her presence without thinking.

 

“I have not, but I’m going to,” Jon says.

 

“Going to tell her everything then?” Ygritte wonders. “Going to tell her about all of the nights we kept each other warm under my furs? How you made me absolutely sweat from just your mouth?”

 

Jon frowns at her. “If she asks, I’ll tell her.”

 

Ygritte looks at him with a frown, clearly disappointed she’s not getting the rise out of him that she obviously is seeking to get. And Jon’s not going to give it to her. He’s too aware of the ways she likes to aggravate him. It’s a game to her. Taking a piss out of him is Ygritte’s idea of fun. But he’s not going to give her the satisfaction of that. This is _his_ Keep with _his_ wife and _he_ is Lord here. If he wants, he can toss Ygritte back clear across the wall and no one will be able to say or do anything to stop him.

 

She’s just not used to him being in a position of power like this. She’s not the only one.

 

But they’ll _all_ just have to get used to it.

 

That is all Jon says. For now. Leaving Ygritte behind, Jon carries Dorren, with Ghost following behind, and he heads to his wife’s chambers. He knows there will be another conversation with Ygritte sooner rather than later, but right now, there’s another conversation he must have that is far more important.

 

At his wife’s closed door, Jon bends down and sets Dorren on his legs again. This time, Ghost doesn’t even sniff at him as he stands at one side of Jon and Dorren is on the other.

 

Jon takes a deep breath before lifting his fist to knock.

 

_Baa!_ Dorren echoes and Jon finds himself smiling a little.

 

A moment later, Jeyne is the one to answer the door.

 

“My Lord,” she drops into a curtsy.

 

Before Jon can say anything, Jeyne steps aside, pulling open the door wider, beckoning him to enter. Jon does so with Dorren and Ghost coming in as well. Sansa is standing by the table by the window, her fingers touching the petals of the blue roses he had Kitty put in a vase the day of Sansa’s arrival. They are dying now, wilting and petals dropping onto the table, but Sansa hasn’t made a move to dispose of them.

 

Jon silently reminds himself to bring her fresh flowers tomorrow.

 

He looks over his shoulder when he hears the door shut again and he sees that Jeyne has left now, leaving the two of them – plus their two animals – in the chamber, alone. He looks at her for a moment – standing at the window and the weak Northern sun trying to push itself through the grey clouds in the sky, through the window onto her. Her dress is blue and simple and her hair is in a braid, simple as well, over her shoulder.

 

She’s beautiful. Kind and smart and warm and beautiful. He needs to write to his King and thank him.

 

“Do you love her?” Sansa asks suddenly just as Jon is opening his mouth to speak himself.

 

“I do not,” Jon answers without pause.

 

Sansa lifts her head and looks to him. “Did you love her? I won’t be mad if you did,” she then adds.

 

“You won’t?” Jon can’t help, but have a hard time believing that.

 

Women are jealous creatures. It’s just a fact of who they are. He can’t imagine _any_ wife in Westeros not being mad at the idea of her husband loving someone other than her.

 

Not that he loves Sansa, Jon is quick to correct himself. It’s far too soon to love her.

 

“You had a life for a long time before I came into it,” Sansa explains. “There was a boy before you… I didn’t love him, but I did fancy him. I never told him and he never knew, but still… I did fancy him.”

 

Jon finds himself frowning – nearly scowling – at that. Apparently, women aren’t the only jealous beings.

 

“Can you tell me his name?” Jon asks, still frowning.

 

“Why?” Sansa tilts her head curiously.

 

“My dagger would like to meet his gut,” he explains casually.  

 

“Jon,” Sansa rolls her eyes at that before she looks to him again. “Please. I want you to tell me so I am able to better prepare myself for the remainder of their visit. Did you love her?”

 

This time, Jon’s answer does not come right away. He truly pauses to think it through. For Sansa, he thinks.

 

“I thought I did,” is his honest answer to her. “I also thought I was going to die at any moment in the war and I wanted to leave this world, having touched what I thought was love. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you and had to be blindsided like that in the courtyard.”

 

Sansa seems to sweep over that – for now, he suspects. “But you don’t love her now?” She asks again.

 

“No, Sansa,” Jon says, stepping towards her, closing the space between them. “I don’t love her.” His eyes look into hers and Sansa looks into his; seeing whether he’s telling the truth or not. Jon can only hope that she can see that he is.

 

After another moment, Sansa swallows and then nods her head. “Alright,” she says softly and Jon can’t help, but lean in, his hands resting on her arms and his lips touching hers lightly, allowing himself to feel relieved.

 

“I thought I was going to come in here and you would strike me,” he tells her once their lips part again.

 

Sansa’s lips quirk a bit at that and her hands come to a rest on his chest, her eyes looking into his once again, and just from her smiling, Jon can’t help, but smile himself.

 

“I wouldn’t rule that out just yet, My Lord. Tormund says they’ll be staying for a few days.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of the wildings/free folk through Sansa's eyes in the next chapter. Sansa wonders what the "Lord's Kiss" is after Ygritte mentions it and Jeyne meets a man who unexpectedly catches her curiosity. Thank you so, so much for reading and loving this story!


	12. The Lady of Queenscrown

…

 

**Twelve.** The Lady of Queenscrown.

 

Sansa gasps sharply as Jon thrusts into her and hits a spot inside of her that he hasn’t their two previous times and then, the most unladylike moan rises from the back of her throat, past her lips into the chamber. She feels herself immediately blush. Moaning like that can’t possibly be right. Her mother had told her that if Jon does things right, Sansa would make noises in their bed, but Catelyn had never mentioned moaning.

 

She is almost afraid to look into Jon’s face after she makes that noise, afraid of what his reaction will be, but Jon is above her, his thrusts never stopping and his eyes almost look black to her in the candlelight. He is staring down at her as if he is his own direwolf and she is a lamb and he is preparing himself to devour her.

 

Jon lowers his head and his lips fuse to hers. His kiss is hard – he has never kissed her with such force before – and yet, Sansa finds herself lifting her hands, tangling her fingers in his hair and moaning into his mouth. Jon moans, too, and he begins moving a bit faster.

 

“Sansa,” Jon groans her name, ripping his lips from hers. “You’re so wet.”

 

If Sansa hadn’t been blushing from her moan, her face feels on fire now from her husband’s words. She has felt her own wetness before, but this is the first time Jon has specifically mentioned it. Perhaps there is _too_ much wetness.

 

“I’m sorry-” she begins to say because surely, that’s not a good thing.

 

But before she can say anything else, Jon kisses her again and Sansa momentarily forgets what he’s said. She can feel his hand sweep down the side of her body and then it slips between one cheek of her bottom and the bed. He has not touched her there yet and Sansa waits to feel a wave of embarrassment, but instead, with him moving inside of her and his lips on hers and his hand squeezing her bottom cheek, all of it combined, she finds that she likes it very much.

 

The new movement causes her leg to hitch up higher against his hip and it makes him sink deeper inside of her. The new sensation makes her gasp and her back arch from the bed and Jon groans out. His thrusts grow a little bit harder; a little bit faster – and he’s striking a place within her that he hasn’t before this night.

 

She cries out his name so loud, she swears it bounces off the walls around them and she won’t think of how everyone in the Keep can probably hear their Lady at this moment. Right now, her only focus is her body exploding and catching on fire, it seems. She hardly hears Jon with his own grunts as he thrusts into her a final time, finding his own end.

 

Sansa feels her chest heaving up and down, her heart racing in her chest, and Jon pulls himself from her, separating their bodies, before collapsing onto his back at her side. There is a moment of quiet between them, the only sound in the chamber is their heavy panting as they fight to catch their breath once again. 

 

“We should not have done that,” she finally is able to say once she feels like she can breathe again.

 

Jon is still panting though, looking up to the ceiling. “No?”

 

“We have guests, Jon. It’s not proper of us to do that while we have guests under our roof,” she says, sounding a bit stern in her tone and she wonders how much she sounds like her mother right now.

 

Sansa shakes her head at that as if to shake thoughts of her mother – while she’s lying in a bed naked with her husband – from her mind. Now is not the time for Catelyn Stark to be coming around. And true, the guests are wildings, but Sansa was taught that guests are guests. 

 

“I wasn’t aware of that rule,” Jon comments, his breathing now normal once again.

 

Sansa pulls the furs over her naked body and she rolls onto her side to face her husband. Jon turns his head to look at her and she feels a squeezing in her chest. She’s not used to such a feeling, but she knows that it’s something wonderful and it’s something she hadn’t expected to have towards her husband; not yet, at least.

 

She wonders if Jon feels anything in his chest when he looks at her.

 

It’s only been a week though since they first laid eyes on one another and were married and their third time at doing this particular act that husbands and wives do. She thinks she likes it more now. It doesn’t hurt any longer and the pleasure is immense and something she’s never known. She wonders how it feels for Jon. And then, with her mind going in that particular direction, she can’t help, but think of Jon and Ygritte; Ygritte with her pretty face and red hair that matches her own.

 

Sansa wonders if, for Jon, it had felt better with Ygritte than it feels with her.

 

She is brought out from her thoughts when Jon reaches a hand out and he wipes a gentle finger at the side of her mouth. She looks at him curiously and he gives her a faint smile.

 

“You frown when you’re in deep thought,” Jon tells her. “It gives you a wrinkle right here.”

 

Sansa’s not sure why, but knowing that Jon has noticed something like that about herself makes her blush now and when Jon can feel the warmth of her cheek beneath his hand, he smiles a little, moving closer to her. Sansa lifts her own hand and rests light fingers on his chest; over one of his scars that mark him there. She is curious about all of his scars, but she won’t dare ask. At least not now. Perhaps, when they’re married for years, rather than mere days.

 

“Can you tell me what you’re thinking of?” Jon asks quietly, his eyes looking closely to her face.

 

She quickly decides to not tell him what’s _really_ on her mind and say something else she’s been thinking of.

 

“I hope you do not mind, but I have summoned some of our asparagus farmers to the Keep,” she said. “I have had Sam reading up on the subject and with our asparagus fields useless to us at the moment, I was hoping to recruit some of those who are able to begin focusing on cranberries.”

 

Jon smiles a little at that. “Why would I mind that?”

 

“Because they are your farmers and I don’t want to overstep-”

 

“ _Our_ farmers and if you have faith that we can grow cranberries, I have faith, too,” he tells her.

 

His words make Sansa smile and she wonders if he has any idea just how much those words mean to her. She knows he could easily brush it aside and remind her that she has no idea what she’s talking about. And if even if she _does_ know what she’s talking about, it’s Jon’s prerogative, as Lord, to tell her that he will do things his own way and he doesn’t need her help.

 

They yet do not know one another as well as they will, but he already has faith in her.

 

Just knowing that her husband is the sort to believe in her, Sansa moves her head closer to his and Jon’s hand, still on her cheek, slips back into her hair, to the back of her head, and he kisses her gently.

 

“I promised you that I had another wedding gift for you besides Dorren,” he reminds her rather randomly.

 

“Dorren is perfect, My Lord,” Sansa smiles and Jon smiles as well before he gives her another kiss.

 

“Still…” Jon pulls himself back and knowing that seeing him completely naked makes her blush, he takes one of the furs with him to wrap around his waist as he rises from the bed.

 

Sansa sits herself up, resting against the headboard behind her and watching Jon as he crosses the small chamber to the fireplace. There is a small wooden box on the mantel and he opens it now, taking out something she can’t see. He turns back to the bed and when he sees her watching him, he smiles. She smiles, too, and Jon returns, sitting down at her side once more.

 

“You do not have to wear it if you don’t want to,” he tells her as he holds up the simple silver ring – a solid band of silver with no stones or decorative carvings. And yet, Sansa thinks it’s beautiful. “I know it’s not a common practice and not every married woman wears one-”

 

“I love it, Jon,” Sansa breaks in and looking from the ring to his face, she can tell that he is relieved with her words. She gives him a smile and holds out her left hand. “Can you?”

 

“I can,” he gives a nod and then holding her hand gently, he guides the ring onto her third finger. Once the ring is on her finger and he can tell that it fits her just right, Jon exhales a soft sigh of relief.

 

Sansa looks at the simple band and she thinks it looks absolutely perfect and seeing it on her finger, it gives her that squeeze in her chest once again.

 

“I love it,” she says again, this time, in a whisper and when she looks to Jon, he’s staring at her and his eyes, once again, look nearly black to her.

 

He doesn’t say anything. He lifts his hand to the back of her head and he gently pulls her into another kiss.

 

…

 

Shipments of fish from the Shivering Sea have been delivered to the market of Queenscrown and Mikken, one of the kitchen boys, had been sent to go early that morning and purchase some for the Keep.

 

And after most in the Hall have eaten their morning meal, Sansa – with Jeyne – goes into the kitchens to discuss that evening’s meal with Cook: salmon with roasted onion pies. And then, with Jeyne, Sansa heads to the hedge maze where she has chosen Duncan, the gardener at Queenscrown, to lead the project of getting both in tiptop shape again; and to also transport the cranberry plants that they have found thus far to the agreed upon planting grounds closer to the lake. When the time comes for the cranberry harvest, they will flood the cranberry fields with water from the lake, making their own bogs. It is all going to take some work – a lot of work – but Sansa feels that once everything is built, the whole of the Gift will be able to reap the benefits from their new crop venture.

 

“It already looks a thousand times better, Duncan,” Sansa commends as she watches some gardeners carrying armfuls of wayward sticks out from the maze as others are weeding and others are clipping the hedges. “We’re going to be getting these gardens and maze to rival any in the South in no time at all.”

 

Duncan smiles proudly and stands a little taller. “Thank you, My Lady. We have also found four more cranberry bushes growing wild in the maze. We’re working on getting those dug up and moved out.”

 

“Oh, Duncan, that’s wonderful!” She exclaims, a smile exploding across her face, and she nearly claps.

 

Duncan’s smile somehow manages to grow even wider.

 

“My Lady?”

 

Sansa turns to see one of the chambermaids and she smiles at the girl who seems to be around her age.

 

“Beg your pardon, My Lady. My Lord has sent word from the training yards. He requests your presence.”

 

“Of course,” Sansa smiles at her and after excusing herself to Duncan, but not before giving him one more compliment of how all wonderful it looks, Sansa leaves with Jeyne to go towards the Keep’s training yards.

 

“You’re a natural, My Lady,” Jeyne muses quietly from her side.

 

Sansa is quiet for a moment and then shakes her head. “A part of my still feels like I’m playing pretend and parroting my mother,” she confesses.

 

Jeyne gives her a soft smile and her arm a gentle squeeze.

 

In the training yard, Sansa spots her husband immediately – Jon standing in the middle of the yard with a wooden training sword, facing off against the wilding, Tormund, who is also holding a practice sword. The other men have seemed to pause in their own training to watch their Lord, the famous General Snow, in action. Sansa unabashedly admits to herself that she is most curious to see her husband, as well. He helped her brother win independence for the North and not just any man could have done that.

 

“Here, My Lady,” Davos suddenly appears, gesturing to a bench along one of the low walls of the yard.

 

“Thank you, Davos,” she smiles to her husband’s advisor and she and Jeyne go to take their seats. “Could you send word to the stables and see if Dorren is done with his feeding?”

 

“Yes, My Lady,” Davos smiles and gives a small bow before he goes to find one of the boys to do just that.

 

Sansa quickly learns. The breath catches in her throat as she watches. It is as if she is watching Jon dance – the way he spins himself around, the sword twisting in his hand, circling his head, coming down and finding his targets each and every time. It is a magnificent thing to watch him fight. Her husband is beautiful.

 

Tormund is joking and making crude comments as he and Jon spar that Sansa knows would make her blush if she was truly paying attention to what he says, but she finds herself so occupied with watching every single movement that Jon makes. No wonder Robb has said that he trusted his very life in Jon’s hands more than anyone. She can’t imagine any harm ever coming to anyone in their Keep and in their lands if Jon is the one in front of them, protecting them.

 

She glances to Jeyne next to her to see what she thinks of the sparring before them, but she finds her dear friend isn’t watching it at all. Instead, her head is turned slightly to the side; not enough for others to notice and the only reason Sansa does notice is because she is looking at her. Silently, she follows Jeyne’s eyes to see what she is looking at, but all Sansa can see is one of the other wilding men; the one with the wild black hair and thick black beard. Lenyl.

 

He is watching the sparring, leaning against his wooden training sword, and his mouth is weighed down in a heavy frown. In the short time since the wildings arrived, Sansa has already noted that Lenyl seems to make no other facial expression besides frowning.

 

Sansa wonders why Jeyne is looking at him though she doesn’t think she’s mistaken and that Jeyne is very much looking at the wild man.

 

Before she can casually pose the question to Jeyne though, she feels someone appear behind her. And then, Ygritte sits herself down on the bench on Sansa’s other side. Sansa can’t help, but stiffen. This woman makes her nervous. They may look alike in a sense, but Sansa knows they couldn’t be more different if they tried and this is a woman who had held her husband’s heart. Sansa would assume that most ladies would be nervous around wildings; especially wildings who knew their husbands in particular ways.

 

“You sounded like you had a good night last night,” Ygritte gives her a grin that Sansa is not a fool enough to mistake as friendly.

 

Jeyne stiffens next to and then leans forward so she can frown at Ygritte. “You shouldn’t speak to My Lady so crassly,” she tells the other.

 

Despite the warmth of her cheeks – she _knew_ everyone had heard her last night with Jon – Sansa gives Jeyne the slightest head shake to stop her. It is a waste of breath to try and speak manners to the wildings, she knows; or at least to Ygritte.

 

“She’s not my Lady,” Ygritte retorts in return. She then goes back to looking to Sansa. “Brought me some good memories though, listening to you. It’s good to hear that he’s still a master at using his mouth.”

 

Despite the deep flush on her face, Sansa finds herself looking to the other woman with a slight frown. “What do you mean?” She asks before she can stop herself because she has absolutely no idea what Ygritte means.

 

Jon gives her wonderful kisses; at least, she assumes they’re wonderful since they are the only kisses she has ever received, but she has a feeling that Jon’s kisses to her lips aren’t what Ygritte is talking about right now.

 

And after a moment of Ygritte blinking at her before she bursts out with loud laughter – most definitely at Sansa’s expense – Sansa knows she is right.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap. Seriously. Thank you so, so much to those who are reading, commenting and enjoying this story so much. In the next chapter, Jon notices that Sansa has become a little quiet and distant and he will try to figure out as to why. I also spent a good hour this past Saturday, watching all sorts of cranberry bog videos on YouTube. Don't threaten me with a good time!


	13. Headaches

…

 

**Thirteen. Headaches.**

“The meal is delicious this evening, My Lady,” Jon says, leaning closer to his wife so she can hear him.

 

Sansa looks from her plate to him and gives him a small smile. “I’m glad you like it, My Lord.”

 

Jon can’t help, but look down to her plate. She’s hardly eaten anything and most of her fish and onion pie is sitting there, untouched. He knows he has so much to learn about this woman sitting next to him, but he knows that when people have little appetite, they’re either not feeling well or something is bothering them.

 

“Are you feeling alright?” Jon asks, deciding to check on that one first.

 

Sansa shakes her head. “I actually do have a bit of a headache, My Lord.”

 

Jon knows they use their proper titles when so many others are around, and yet, at the same time, hearing Sansa refer to him as such gives him a pricking on the back of his neck. He will ignore it – for now. At this precise moment, he needs to see to his Lady wife and the ache in her head.

 

“Let’s get you to your chamber then,” Jon says as he pushes his own plate away and begins to push his chair out from the table.

 

“Oh, I can get there myself,” Sansa stops him with a hand on his arm. “It’s just a headache. Nothing serious.”

 

“It’s serious to me,” Jon frowns and Sansa gives him a small smile. “Let me walk you. I’m done here and even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t be able to eat, knowing that you don’t feel well.”

 

Sansa looks at him for a moment and the fires in the hearth are lit as are the torches, providing adequate light in the Hall that evening for everyone and their meal, yet Jon can’t see if her cheeks are as pink as he thinks they are right now or if he’s just imagining it.

 

“Come.”

 

He stands from his chair and then helps Sansa push hers away, taking her hand as she brings herself to her feet. At Jon’s other side, Ghost has been sitting and behind Sansa’s chair, Dorren has been sleeping and as both of their owners leave the dais, both animals rise to their feet as well.

 

As they see their Lord and Lady begin to leave the Hall, people bid them good-night and Jon notes that even having a headache, Sansa still has a smile for everyone. It has only been a week, but Jon already understands.

 

He knows Robb has a massive task ahead of him; building the North up after a seemingly never-ending war and though Robb knows that it won’t be able to be completely self-sufficient and trading with the lower Southern Kingdoms will be necessary, Robb is still working towards making the Houses and all of the Northern Lands as independent as it possibly can.

 

The King marrying his sister – a sister that could be beneficial to him in so many possible House alliances – to Jon had made little sense to him when Robb had first brought the subject up to him. But now, only a week later and Jon understands.

 

Sansa was born to do this. She has born a Stark and with that, her training as a Lady began at her birth. She was always meant to be wife to a Lord and running in her own Keep. Already, Jon has heard more than one conversation of how lovely and kind Lady Snow is and Jon admits, that makes his chin raise a little with pride whenever he hears such things. She is _his_ wife – the kind and lovely Lady Snow that the people of Queenscrown and of the Gift already love.

 

And now, watching her smile at the people as they pass, Jon sees the way they all smile at her in return.

 

“Can I get something from the kitchens for you that will help with the headache?” Jon asks once they have left the Hall and begin the walk to her chamber.

 

“I’m alright, Jon,” she replies with a slight shake of her head. “I think a good night’s sleep will cure it.”

 

At his other side, there is Ghost, and walking ahead of them – sometimes tripping – is Dorren. The lamb seems to know where they are going and does not need direction to get them there. Jon doesn’t have to look to know that Jeyne is following behind them – but keeping her distance so there may be some semblance of privacy between them.

 

“Tormund and I were speaking. Del is his youngest son and though the boy is almost ten and is a bit older than most boys who start, I offered to take Del as a page,” Jon breaks the silence, wanting to say _anything_ to her.

 

That makes Sansa smile and Jon is relieved of it.

 

“And Tormund would want his son to be South of the Wall with the other _kneelers_?” Sansa asks.

 

Jon almost winces at that. It’s an insult when that word is used and everyone knows it, but Jon supposes that calling them wildings instead of Free Folk is an insult, too. Still, Jon had told Tormund, Lenyl, Del and Ygritte to not call everyone kneelers here during their visit and cause grievance with their insult. Apparently, that hadn’t been a rule they wanted to follow.

 

Sansa is smiling as she asks the question, though.

 

“The life of a Free Folk, North of the Wall, isn’t for everyone and Tormund said that he loves his son, but Del is his youngest and he thinks maybe he wants something a bit… more for him,” Jon explains. “And if I take Del as my page, you would have to teach him some things, too.”

 

“I know,” she says with another smile. “I wouldn’t mind. He seems like a very sweet boy.”

 

“Don’t let him hear you say that, My Lady,” Jon says, making an attempt at a joke, and Sansa sees it as such for her smile grows a little bit larger and the site makes him smile as well.

 

“Jon, may I ask you something?” Sansa asks in a soft voice.

 

“Yes,” he answers without even needing to think.

 

She pauses and Jon looks to her, waiting, wondering if she’s going to confess to him that she doesn’t really have a headache and the reason she wasn’t eating is because something is on her mind. If that _is_ the reason, Jon begins to wonder what would be bothering Sansa so much and he wonders if it’s something he should already know without her needing to tell him.

 

“You do not have to tell me, but… what is the deal brokered between my brother and the wildings?”

 

Jon hasn’t been expecting that and yet, he finds himself relieved. He thought that she would ask something else; something more about his past with Ygritte and though Jon has already vowed to himself that he’ll tell her anything she wants to know about it, it’s still not something he would be looking forward to telling her.

 

“Why wouldn’t I tell you that?” He gives her a small smile.

 

They reach her chamber and stop at the door, both turning to face one another. Her hand slips from his arm, but Jon takes her hand before she can pull it completely away. This time, Jon knows he’s not imagining the pink of her cheeks and he smiles when she lifts her eyes to look into him.

 

“We needed the wildings’ help against first the Baratheon army and then the Lannister army and the wildings’ needed our help,” Jon begins.

 

“What did they need help with?” She asks.

 

Jon pauses this time. “There are things beyond the Wall that were threatening their numbers. We helped them with those things, which we did after they promised to stop their raids, and they then helped us. Robb gave those who wanted them the abandoned castles along the Wall to help the Night’s Watch in their defense and then others, to those who wanted it, will be settled in the Gift.”

 

Sansa thinks that over for a moment. “What sorts of things?” She asks.

 

Jon shakes his head. “Another time,” he says quietly and thankfully, Sansa doesn’t push him. “I hope sleep tonight will help with your headache.”

 

“Yes,” she says quietly, with a small smile. “Are you going to be returning to the Hall tonight?”

 

“I don’t think so. Ghost and me will take a walk in the Godswood before we go to bed,” Jon decides and his direwolf, sitting now, brushes his tail back and forth across the floor to show his approval at the plan. Dorren curiously begins sniffing at Ghost’s tail.

 

“Alone?” Sansa asks; the word seeming to have blurted from her mouth, and she lowers her eyes as if not wanting to look at Jon anymore.

 

Jon can’t help, but frown. “Of course alone. Why do you ask?”

 

Sansa quickly shakes her head. “I was just wondering. I shouldn’t have asked.”

 

Jon steps even closer to her, the space between them nearly disappearing completely, and at his close proximity, Sansa lifts her head enough to look at him up through her lashes.

 

“You can ask, but you shouldn’t have to. Do I… have I done something that would make you think I would seek someone else other than you?”

 

Jon feels the slightest tension in his back as he waits for her to answer. He immediately begins thinking of everything from the past few days, but the truth is, he hasn’t honestly done anything other than be with Sansa or be with Davos and Sam, trying to figure out his new duties. He hasn’t had the _time_ to do anything even if that was what he wanted to do.

 

He stiffens completely when he realizes something and Sansa looks at him fully now.

 

He put a hand on the back of Sansa’s head and kissed her on the forehead. “I will take care of it.”

 

“No, Jon,” Sansa shakes her head. “Please don’t. I was just… I’m being sensitive. She… she intimidates me and I shouldn’t let her. I don’t even know her to let her do that to me.”

 

Jon is frowning though and Sansa keeps looking at him. And the more she looks at him, Jon’s frown begins to fade. “When I return from my walk, can I come and see you?” He asks.

 

Sansa pushes herself forward and presses her lips to his.

 

…

 

“That doesn’t seem very smart to me,” Jon muses to himself as he stands at the edge of the training yard, watching Tormund and Lenyl sparring one another with wooden training swords; both of their balances off from drinking too much at the meal that evening.

 

Ygritte lets out a snort. “Biggest favor they’ll do for us is if they knock each other unconscious.”

 

Jon hadn’t even noticed her standing nearby, but now that he sees her, he turns towards her, his frown immediate. Ygritte looks at him and does that smirk of hers; that smirk where he knows that she finds something about him endlessly funny to her – and which Jon doesn’t find funny at all.  

 

“You’re going to be leaving tonight,” Jon tells her without any sort of hesitation. His frown remains heavy as he stares at her and in the torchlight, he can see her eyes widen just slightly, surprised at his announcement.

 

But then, she slides back into her smirk.

 

“Hurt the wife’s feelings, huh?” Ygritte asks.

 

Jon’s hands hanging at his sides curl into fists. “You’re not staying at the Keep for another night. Sleep in the village if you want, but you’re not staying here. You shouldn’t have even come.”

 

“Why not?” She wonders. “Thought you would be happy to see me. You were always happy to see me.”

 

“I’m married,” he reminds her, but then he wonders why he has to.

 

He then wonders that if he wasn’t married, would he be happy to see her? Yes. He doesn’t doubt that because honestly, of all of the possible women in this world, he thought that Ygritte would be the only one he would ever truly deserve. He was a nobody born to a woman who wasn’t married. What woman would he ever be worthy of if it wasn’t a wild woman? He’ll _never_ deserve Sansa. Even now, as a Lord and a General, he doesn’t deserve her because what even are those things? Titles. Just words.

 

As he told Sansa, he knows now that he’s not in love with Ygritte, but before? Yes, he did because he thought that the love of a wildling from North of the wall was the only love someone like him would ever get.

 

Now there’s Sansa though…

 

It’s only been a week. He’s fond of her and she doesn’t seem to hate him, but are they in love? Jon doesn’t know how to answer that silent question to himself with anything other than a negative. Maybe they will love one another someday. He hopes they can. He would very much like to love his wife and have her love him in return – especially with that wife being Sansa.

 

“Not sure what that has to do with anything,” Ygritte shrugs.

 

She has purposely been taken steps towards him, closing the space between them, and Jon simply frowns at her and takes a step back, maintaining distance between them.

 

 _Crack!_ “Damn it, Tormund!” Lenyl shouts, holding his head, and Tormund lets out a great laugh.

 

It has been said that Tormund’s laughter can shake snow from mountains and the way it booms out now in the quiet night, bouncing off of stone and air, they can all hear dogs – near and far – barking in response.

 

Jon keeps frowning at Ygritte. “Leave. Go to the village until morning or start heading for the Wall, but now. And don’t come back.”

 

“Or what? Frown all you want, Jon Snow, but I still mean something to you. Being married a week to an absolute stranger isn’t going to change that now and it never will.”

 

Jon almost hates her for that because he can’t immediately tell her that she’s wrong and he doesn’t know _why_ he can’t tell her that she’s wrong.

 

“Go, Ygritte,” he snaps, his words firm. “Or I’ll sick Ghost on you myself.”

 

Ygritte bows dramatically in front of him. “Yes, _My Lord_.”

 

Jon ignores her and turns to head back inside. He is going to be sleeping with his wife tonight and that is honestly the most important thing to him right now.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so, so much for reading. I honestly don't know how I feel about this chapter...
> 
> In the books, Tormund had four sons: Toregg, Torwynd, Dryn, and Dormund. I changed one of the names to Del just because. In the next chapter, Jeyne and Lenyl speak for the first time, more paperwork for Jon and he asks Sansa if she can help him with several important matters for the new House Snow that he's been putting off.


	14. Titles and Paperwork

 

…

 

**Fourteen. Titles and Paperwork.**

“Where the hell are you going?”

 

Jeyne jumps at the unexpected – and extremely rude – question. Spinning around to see who asked her that in such a tone, a retort already on her tongue, her mouth closes when she sees that it’s  _him_. The wildling.

 

She noticed him the second she saw him though she still isn’t quite sure why. Like Sansa, she’s never had any interaction with a wilding before moving here. She has only heard stories – from her father and others; warning tales, really, of how to stay away from them and reminding her that they are called wild for a reason. They are not like those below the Wall and they never will be.

 

This one – Lenyl – there’s something about him that Jeyne doesn’t understand. He’s older than her – not by much; perhaps only a handful of years. His black hair is wild with the wind blowing it in his face and he keeps his black beard shorn short, but it is thick. His eyes, to her, look black as well, but Jeyne hasn’t been anywhere near him to see their true color.

 

When she and Sansa were younger and the war yet hadn’t drummed on their doors, the two close friends would giggle and imagine their someday husbands. Sansa, of course, would marry a Lord or even a Prince. Both knew that. And Jeyne liked to imagine her marrying a man in the Kingsguard. Both of these imaginary men would be clean and so handsome, poetry could be written about them, and so gentle and noble.

 

When King Robb had offered to arrange a marriage between her and one of the men in the Kingsguard and though Jeyne was flattered that the King would be concerned for her, Jeyne had to refuse. Being married and being a mother were the only things she had truly wanted in this life, but the war had changed everything – including her. Her family was dead and she had absolutely nothing. Marriages were about what both parties could bring to the union and being no one now, she had nothing to offer – not even to a Kingsguard. Being Lady Sansa’s maid for the rest of her life is truly the only thing she could ever ask for.

 

Lenyl, the wilding, is not like the man she used to dream of marrying someday. She’s almost frightened of him in a way and yet, she is also curious about him and her confusing thoughts make no sense to her.

 

He is sitting on a bench, sharping his blade, but he stops to frown and bark his question.

 

Jeyne frowns right back. “My Lady has given me time of my own to spend as I wish. I am going to the village to explore the market there.”

 

Lenyl smirks at her words. “Your Lady has given you  _your_ time back to you? How generous.”

 

Jeyne feels her back stiffen and she narrows her eyes at him. She opens her mouth to reply to that, but stops herself before she can. He is a wildling and she assumes his response will be much like that other one who had disrespected Sansa, Ygritte, had been. He won’t care because Sansa is not His Lady so why should he ever speak of her with any kind of respect or manners?

 

Perhaps the stories her father told her of wildings are not so far-fetched, after all.

 

No matter how handsome that said wilding might be.

 

Without saying anything at all, Jeyne turns her back to him and begins walking away as she had been before he had stopped her. She hears movement behind her and then Lenyl is at her side, his sword returning into his sheath at his side.

 

“What are you doing?” She frowns at him.

 

“Going with you to the market.”

 

That gets Jeyne to stop right in her tracks. “Why?”

 

“They might not be my Lord and Lady, but Jon is my friend and Sansa is his wife now. I doubt Jon would like his wife’s Lady going anywhere away from the Keep by herself,” Lenyl says, frowning as he speaks.

 

Jeyne has noticed that he is always frowning and she has to wonder if perhaps it is a birth defect; his lips unable to turn upwards.

 

She has to take a moment to think of what to say to that, but for a moment, all she can do is shake her head.

 

“You can’t come with me,” she tells him.

 

“If you’re shopping for women things, I won’t watch,” Lenyl offers. “Unless you want me to. I can even help you shop for those.”

 

Jeyne feels her face explode in heat because even though she had had no plans in shopping for anything that might be considered intimate, just the words from this man makes her embarrassed for some reason. Men aren’t supposed to say things to ladies.  _Proper_  men. And that’s the difference, isn’t it? This man is a wilding. Wildings have no manners and certainly no sense of what a man should or should not say to a lady.

 

But… is she a lady, herself? She’s Lady Sansa’s maid. That is all she is. Does Lenyl sense that about her? Would he say the same rude insinuation to Sansa if she was here? Jeyne doesn’t know. He’s a wilding. She doesn’t know anything about wildings except what she has heard. And is he right? Is she just a maid and nothing more? Isn’t that what she has been insisting to King Robb and Sansa?

 

No, maid or Queen, she is still a lady and should be treated as such.

 

Her shoulders steel with her resolve. “I’m Jeyne Poole of Winterfell and you won’t say things like that to me and you won’t be coming with me to the market either,” she informs him in an ice-cold tone.

 

Lenyl blinks at her, clearly not having been expecting her to say something like that.

 

She frowns at him and Lenyl keeps frowning, as always, but there’s something she can see in his eyes. His  _green_  eyes. It almost looks as if, perhaps, he is… curious.

 

Jeyne pauses for a moment, but having nothing else to say, she turns and begins walking again. A moment later, Lenyl is back at her side. He doesn’t say a word so she doesn’t speak to him either. She actually isn’t sure whether she wants to talk to him again or not and if she  _does_  want to talk to him…  _why_  does she?

 

…

 

Jon sighs heavily and stands up swiftly from his chair, having to get away from the table for a moment. Sansa laughs softly as he goes to pour himself a cup of the wine from the pitcher the kitchen had delivered earlier.

 

“Not having fun?” Sansa asks, teasing.

 

“No one ever says how much…  _paperwork_  there is once you have a title,” Jon frowns at the mess of papers he and his wife have been working on since after breakfast that morning.

 

Sansa smiles, laying down her pen and settling back in her seat. “What did you think it would be like?” She wonders and then nods when Jon lifts the other cup.

 

He fills the cup with wine and then brings it to her. She smiles faintly when he leans down and brushes his lips across the top of her head – casually and naturally and she wonders if he’s even aware he’s done it – before he settles himself down into his chair at her side once more.

 

“I don’t know,” Jon admits, answering her question. “Endless feasts and ordering people around while never doing anything yourself,” he shrugs.

 

Sansa laughs at that and Jon smiles, looking to her.

 

“Instead, it’s this,” he waves his hand over the table. “It never ends.”

 

“Well, you do have many responsibilities now,” Sansa says, reminding him as if he’s forgotten. “And there are many people who are relying on you.”

 

“Must you remind me?” He asks, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

 

“I’m afraid so,” she tells him gently with a smile to match. “You’ll get used to it. And no one says that you have to do it, all day, every day. It’s all about spreading the work out so it doesn’t get too big or completely overwhelm you. And you know I will help you as much as you would like.”

 

“Of course, I want you to help me,” Jon tells her. He sets his cup down on the table and then turns towards her, taking her hand that isn’t holding her own cup. “I am always going to need your help.”

 

He is looking into her eyes and Sansa is not able to look anywhere except into his eyes in return; not that she wishes she could look anywhere else right now. Her husband has the most beautiful eyes she has ever seen and she feels such a feeling of gratitude – as well as a tightness in her chest – that these are the eyes she gets to look into for the rest of her days.

 

Jon smiles at her then, the smallest smile with his lips barely flickering, but she can tell it’s a smile. He lifts her hand and kisses her knuckles and Sansa feels the tightness in her chest grow even more so. She has the strangest desire then to take her hand and place it on his chest; over his heart so she can feel it beating.

 

She doesn’t understand where the desire comes from and she slowly pulls her hand from Jon’s to wrap both around her cup of wine to keep herself from doing something so silly.

 

“There is something I desperately need your help on and since you are my wife and all I have, you have now as well, your opinion is the only I seek on for this.”

 

Sansa watches him with open curiosity as he begins sifting through the papers they have been working on most of the day. Reports from the onion and pig farmers and from the shepherds as well. The asparagus farmers had come in this morning. All those with lands near water that they could flood fields from – and had wanted to – had taken cranberry plants with them as they returned home. The remaining asparagus farmers would continue to tend and mend the wounded asparagus fields and grow onions in patches in the meantime. As Sansa had explained her cranberry plans to the farmers, she had felt Jon’s eyes on her the entire time and when she would look at him, he would smile as if he had never seen anything like her before.

 

At least, that was how Sansa chose to interpret his look.

 

Another to see them that day were the cottars – the group of men tasked with rebuilding sections of the keep that had been badly damaged – either from one battle or another or simply from neglect. They had plans spread out before them and Jon had involved Sansa in the entire meeting, wanting her opinion since this keep is her home now, as well, and she should have all says in what this home should look like.

 

“Here,” Jon finally finds it the paper he is looking for and holds it for Sansa to take.

 

She sits up straight and sets her cup aside before taking it, reading it over. It’s from Robb.

 

“A sigil?” She asks, lifting her eyes to Jon again.

 

“For the new House.  _Our_  new House.”

 

Sansa reads through the letter again. House Snow of the Gift. A new sigil for a new House is certainly a very large task and there is that tightness again from her husband asking for her input and opinions.

 

She looks to him and he’s looking to her and suddenly, there are words on the tip of her tongue. Three words that surprise her and scare her from being there. It’s too soon for such words, isn’t it? Two weeks since seeing, meeting and marrying him. Those three words for him shouldn’t even be anywhere in her thoughts yet. But… they’re there, poised and ready to jump past her lips.

 

“I had some ideas, but I wound up scratching those. Too close to other Houses already in existence,” he says and Sansa turns her head to find her cup. She takes a somewhat greedy gulp of wine, hoping it will drown the words down her throat as she swallows.

 

She can’t say those words to Jon.

 

She can’t tell her husband that she loves him.

 

Does she? Is it possible to fall in love with someone after just a short time together? She feels like she needs to write a letter to her mother, asking her about this. Her mother would know. How long was it until Catelyn fell in love with her husband, Sansa’s father? Surely it took longer than two weeks. Being in love in just two weeks just feels…  _wrong_ and illogical.

 

And yet, the tightness in her chest when she looks back to Jon feels right.

 

How does he feel for her? She shouldn’t even  _think_  those three words until she knows how he feels about her; until she knows that his feelings are more.

 

“Do you have any ideas?” Jon asks as Sansa feels a nudge against her leg.

 

She sets her cup down and leans over, lifting Dorren up so the lamb can sit in her lap. He is growing with each day and Sansa already fears the day when her little lamb will be too big and heavy to lift and hold like this.

 

“Something with a sheep?” Sansa suggests with a smile, Dorren letting out a contented, quiet  _baa_  as she rubs gentle fingers behind one of his ears, he tilting his head back and she swears that there is an actual smile across her pet's lips.

 

Jon gives a grin and it makes Sansa smile, too; almost laugh. Another handsome thing about her husband – besides everything – is when he gives an actual grin like this – teeth and wrinkles at his eyes.

 

With his grin now, he reaches out and rubs Dorren under his chin.

 

“And cranberries?” Jon adds and Sansa laughs.

 

“Perfect,” she agrees. “House Snow of the Gift. We no longer get raided by Wildings and we have cranberries now, too,” she declares and when Jon lets out a loud laugh, she joins in.

 

Jon’s hand finds hers and their fingers tangle together and those three words begin crawling up her throat to reach her tongue again, but Sansa swallows them back down as quickly as she possibly can.

 

...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kept going back and forth on this and I know "Snow" is considered a bastard name in the North, but since I have changed so much already, I am changing this as well. Snow will remain their name and will not be a bastard. In the next chapter, Sansa has a bit too much wine at supper and Jon must help his wife to bed and Sansa will ask her husband to tell her things about himself.
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading and I hope that if you celebrate, you have an amazing holiday!


	15. Bedtime Stories

…

 

**Fifteen. Bedtime Stories.**

Jon is speaking with Davos on his left, but when he hears a sudden hiccup followed by a giggle, he turns to his right where his wife sits. Sansa has a hand over her mouth, giggling as she hiccups again, and Jon finds himself smiling. She notices and she sits as straight as can be as if she must suddenly compose herself.

 

“Forgive me, My Lord. Tormund gave me some of his ale to try,” she tells him.

 

“Did he now?” Jon questions, his lips twitching in a smile.

 

He finds Tormund easily, sitting at one of the tables closest to the dais, laughing his booming laugh over something one of the Queenscrown soldiers is saying, and then, as if he can feel Jon’s eyes on him, Tormund looks to him. Tormund gives him a wide grin and then lifts his cup, making Jon roll his eyes and do his best to not smile in return as his eyes go back to Sansa. If it's the ale Jon thinks it is, he, himself, is all too aware of Sansa's state right now. Hopefully, she's only had one cup.

 

She hiccups again and Jon smiles at her. “Forgive me, My Lord,” she says again.

 

“For what?” Jon asks, genuinely curious for what she is apologizing for.

 

He knows Sansa enough to know that she has a small cup of wine each night with their supper. Never more than one. His wife does not appear to be the biggest of drinkers so it’s no surprise that Tormund’s ale – much stronger than the wine she and her tolerance is used to – would be rushing to have such an effect on her.

 

He wonders why Sansa had agreed to try the ale.

 

Sansa takes a moment to compose herself and then slowly pulls her hand down from her lips. “A Lady should never hiccup in public, My Lord,” she informs him.

 

“Ah,” Jon nods as if he understands and picks up his own cup. “So, ladies cannot act like they are humans who have humanly functions?” He wonders before taking a sip.

 

“Not in public,” Sansa shakes her head, but then hiccups again and slaps a hand back to her mouth.

 

Jon can’t stop himself from smiling and Sansa looks to him, beginning to giggle. It only makes him smile more. His wife is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen and right now, drunk, that has not changed. But now, she’s something else as well. Adorable, perhaps? Jon’s not certain the word he is searching for to describe her at this moment. He’s never found anything adorable before in his life.

 

Whether or not he can think of the word though, his wife is _something_.

 

“The room is beginning to spin,” Sansa confesses amidst another hiccup. “I should return to my chamber before I further embarrass myself.”

 

Jon doesn’t point out to her that everyone is else is eating their supper and not paying attention to them.

 

“You will need help,” Jon tells her and begins to push his chair out from the table.

 

“No, My Lord. I’ll…” Sansa is shaking her head, but then takes hold of the arms of her chair, obviously feeling the room spin around her some more.

 

Jon purses his lips together as he stands so no one, especially Sansa, can see his smile at his Lady’s condition.

 

He has to carry her. There’s no way she will be able to walk from the Hall all the way to her chamber on her own two feet. He expects Sansa to shriek with protest and lecture him about propriety when he lifts her in his arms, but then he realizes that his wife must be _very_ drunk because all she does is giggle. The sound makes him smile. Maybe adorable _is_ the word.

 

Davos and Sam both smile at Jon as he carries Sansa down from the dais and Jon gives them nods in return. He knows his two most trusted advisors may smile now, but they will never speak of this while in Sansa’s presence. It is no secret to Jon just how much Davos and Sam – as well as everyone – like and respect his wife, both far too much to even _think_ about saying something that would embarrass her.

 

As Jon carries Sansa from the Hall, those who see them smile and call out “Good night!” to them and Jon smiles at them as well. These people from the Gift and who work in Queenscrown, these are his and Sansa’s people now and they are good people.

 

“I should not have drunk the ale,” Sansa says then and Jon smiles as he carries her out of the Hall and into the quietness of the Keep.

 

“Why did you?” Jon asks.

 

“Tormund, he called me ‘My Lady’ when he was offering it to me,” Sansa explains. “I couldn’t not take his ale after he called me ‘My Lady’.”

 

Jon understands and he can’t deny that he feels a bit touched that Tormund would look to Sansa as such in any capacity; whether he truly sees her like that or not, it doesn’t matter. It’s the fact that he even thought to call her that at all.

 

“Jon, are you carrying me?” Sansa suddenly asks.

 

“I am,” Jon answers, unable to hide his grin.

 

“I can walk,” Sansa insists. “It’s just a bit of ale. I’ve not come down with paralysis.”

 

Jon thinks the best way is for her to test that herself.

 

He stops walking and bends down, returning her to her feet. And as soon as he straightens again, Sansa hiccups and reaches for him.

 

“Spinning, My Lady?” He asks and gives her a smile when she does her best to glare at him.

 

“It would seem, My Lord, that the floor is crooked,” she informs him. “We should have the cottars look at how level these floors are.”

 

“Right away, Sansa,” Jon nods, still smiling, his arm around her waist, not looking to release her anytime soon. Jon had found out, fairly early on, that he very much enjoys his wife being in his arms. He can only hope that Sansa likes being in them just as much.

 

Sansa sighs and gives him a look that makes him smile. “Carry me if you must,” she tells him; as if this is the very last thing that she, herself, wants, but Jon can see the twinkle in her eyes as she says it.

 

Jon chuckles and slowly, so not to make her head spin even more, he lifts her back into his arm. This time, Sansa puts her arms around his neck. That evening, Dorren has been returned to the stables to sleep and Ghost has gone off to hunt so Jon and Sansa have no animals accompanying them to Sansa’s chamber.

 

“Do not tell Tormund this for I do not wish to insult him, but I do not care for ale, I’ve decided,” Sansa tells him as Jon stops in front of her door.

 

“Trust me, Sansa. That is probably the nicest insult that man has ever received,” Jon replies. “Can you get the handle?” He asks and she reaches out, turning the handle, and Jon turns himself around so he can push open the door with his back. “Here we are,” he says as he carries her into her chamber.

 

He crosses the room and gently lays her down onto her bed. Sansa closes her eyes and a beautiful smile slowly pulls at her lips.

 

“Thank you, Jon,” she says in a quiet voice.

 

Jon leans down and brushes his lips across her forehead. “I will go get Jeyne so she can help you into your nightgown. You are going to have a headache in the morning,” he then warns her.

 

Sansa’s eyes flutter open and her hands reach out, gently taking hold of his shoulders before he can move himself away. He remains hovering over her.

 

“Will you stay?” She asks him.

 

Jon pauses for only a moment before he finds himself swallowing as if nervous – for some reason, but what reason that would be, he doesn’t know. “I will if you want me to.”

 

“Will you tell me something?” She then asks.

 

“What would you like me to tell?”

 

“Anything. Tell me about your childhood and your mother and how you came to know my brother.”

 

“That’s a lot to tell,” he comments and Sansa gives him that slow smile again.

 

His wife is drunk and he wonders how much of anything he tells her will be remembered. But Jon doesn’t see the problem with telling her what she wants to know. She is his wife. He should have told her all of it already.

 

As if knowing that he is going to speak of what she wants, Sansa adjusts herself more comfortably onto her back, her head still not on her pillow though, and she looks up to Jon as he is half lying, half sitting above her, his weight on one of his arms. She smiles up at him and Jon finds himself reaching a hand out, brushing away a strand that has come loose from her braid from her cheek.

 

“I was born in Deepwood Motte to Lyanna Snow,” Jon begins. “She was young, alone, my father – whoever he is – having gotten her pregnant and then abandoning her.”

 

Already, his story makes Sansa frown. “He left her? Did she ever say who he was?”

 

Jon shakes his head. “She never said and I never asked. I could tell it still hurt her too much to talk about, but even if it didn’t, I wouldn’t ask her. Any man who would get a woman pregnant and then leave her alone is not a man I would want to know.”

 

Sansa lifts her hand and she rests it on Jon’s chest, right over his heart. He looks at her for a moment, wanting to ask if she can feel it beating, and Sansa looks into his eyes. He decides to continue without asking.

 

“We lived in the back room of an inn, owned by a man named Ethan. He took pity upon my mother and her situation. He always said that my mother reminded him of his own daughter that he lost years before. My mother worked for him as a maid and serving girl. And when I was old enough, I helped clean, too.”

 

Sansa’s hand is still on his chest and she begins softly rubbing it back and forth over his heart. “You loved her,” she then correctly guesses.

 

Jon swallows again. “Very much so.” He does not like talking about his mother. It hurts. They had Ethan and others in the village, but most times, it was very much just the two of them. When Jon was a young boy, he liked to pretend that it was his mother and him against the world. He supposes, in ways, it was. “She died when I was eight. Fever.” He gets that out as quickly as he can, his eyes looking away from Sansa now.

 

Sansa hand slowly runs up from his chest to rest on the side of his neck, her thumb sweeping across his cheek; so gently, it gives Jon an ache in the center of his chest.

 

“If we have a daughter one day, shall we name her Lyanna?” She asks.

 

The question brings the smallest smile to his lips, which amazes him; that he can smile when the topic of discussion is his mother. But Sansa just speaking of their future children, it gives him a tightness in his belly that he admits to liking the feeling of having.

 

“No,” Jon shakes his head and looks back to her. “My mother would hit me upside my head and call me a sentimental sap if we did that.”

 

A burst of laughter breaks through Sansa’s lips at that and she then smacks a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, horrified that she’s just laughed at that. But her reaction makes Jon smile widely, almost laughing himself, and he gently pulls Sansa’s hand away so he can kiss her on the lips.

 

“Keep going,” Sansa urges him softly once their lips part.

 

“After my mother… Ethan cared for me, but he was old and he could only do so much so he took me to the Glover Keep. I became a stable boy and one day, Galbert Glover took note of me and how hard I was working in the stables and with his horses. He decided to make me his page and give me proper training. Your father and Robb would come to Deepwood Motte to visit with Galbert and I was able to meet and know them. And then the war came.”

 

“And you fought bravely for the long years and was noticed by my father and other superior officers. You were able to make your way up through the ranks and when my father died and Robb took charge, he had you fight at his side,” Sansa finishes.

 

She smiles when Jon lifts an eyebrow at her.

 

“Robb was absolutely useless when I asked him questions of my future husband, but he was able to tell me _some_ things,” she explains and Jon smiles.

 

He looks down to her, his hand returning to her cheek, touching her soft skin. He can still hardly believe that this woman is his wife. This beautiful, kind woman who is absolutely lovely both inside and out and is absolutely _adorable_ when she has had too much to drink. He, of all people, is able to look down upon this woman and know that she is his and he is hers.

 

Sansa suddenly lets out another hiccup and she begins to giggle.

 

Jon smiles and he kisses her forehead. “I’m going to get Jeyne so she can help you get ready for bed.”

 

“And once you get yourself ready as well, you’ll come back?” She asks him.

 

He looks to her and he leans down slowly, his lips meeting hers gently. “I’ll come back,” he promises.

 

There’s nowhere else he’d rather sleep than with her. Should he tell her that? It might be too soon to say something like that. For now, he supposes all he can do is show her so that’s what he’s going to do.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! In the next chapter, Sansa receives a letter from Catelyn with some marital advice and Sansa goes to the village after having an idea of another Gift export they can have, but it will lead to hers and Jon's first marital fight.


	16. One’s Own Opinion

…

 

**Sixteen. One’s Own Opinion.**

Sansa glances over her shoulder to see him still there, walking a few feet behind them, before looking to Jeyne walking at her side.

 

“It is kind of Lenyl to walk us to the market,” Sansa comments as casually as she can.

 

Jeyne juts her chin out a bit. “He’s doing it to annoy me.”

 

Sansa smiles at that. “Is he?” She looks over her shoulder again. Lenyl is frowning as he always is and when he sees Sansa looking at him, he raises an eyebrow at her. Sansa gives him a curious, single-eyebrow raised look in return, before looking back to Jeyne. “And why does he want to annoy you?”

 

Jeyne sighs, but doesn’t respond.

 

“Jeyne,” Sansa says her friend’s name while looping her arm through Jeyne’s, playfully tugging her close.

 

A smile is beginning to break through Jeyne’s lips; Sansa can see it, but she can also see Jeyne trying to fight it from forming.

 

“Jeyne,” she says again, more sing-song, and tugging on Jeyne’s arm.

 

“Stop, My Lady,” Jeyne clearly tries her best to use her best scolding tone towards Sansa, but she winds up laughing instead and Sansa laughs, too. She looks to Sansa and Sansa continues to wait and knowing that she’s not going to be getting free from this, Jeyne sighs. “He wishes to annoy me because he is annoying.”

 

“Annoying to everyone or just to you?” Sansa wonders.

 

“We are not children, My Lady,” Jeyne shakes her head. “When boys were mean to us and it was because they liked us, it was because that’s what they were. _Boys_. We’re no longer children and Lenyl wishes to annoy me because as a _man_ , he is an annoying one.”

 

Sansa looks to her oldest, dearest friend and she knows Jeyne nearly as well as Sansa knows herself and right now, Sansa can see the slight pink to Jeyne’s cheeks. Despite the words coming from Jeyne’s mouth, Sansa can tell that Jeyne doesn’t _only_ think that Lenyl is annoying. Even if he is that, and even if he is accompanying she and Jeyne to the market to annoy Jeyne, Sansa has a feeling that perhaps there is a bit more to it – from the both of them.

 

“Maybe it’s different because he is a wilding,” Sansa muses quietly.

 

Jeyne looks to her. “What do you mean?”

 

Sansa shrugs her shoulder and keeps her arm looped through Jeyne. “Neither of us know much of anything when it comes to wildings and their ways except when they see a woman they like, they steal her away. Perhaps, Lenyl is keeping an eye on you because he is used to men swooping in and stealing. Perhaps, he wants to make sure that no one steals you from him.”

 

The pink on Jeyne’s cheeks grows darker. She is quiet for a moment – Sansa hopes she is thinking that over – but she then shakes her head.

 

“Wilding men only care for wilding women, My Lady,” Jeyne says and she looks to the ground as she does.

 

Sansa keeps herself quiet, knowing that Jeyne no longer wishes to speak of this, and though her mind is racing with all sorts of questions – the first being the most important of _does_ Jeyne have feelings for Lenyl, the wilding – Sansa respects her friend and doesn’t ask. She won’t stay quiet on the subject forever, but for now, Sansa will keep her questions to herself.

 

The market of Queenscrown is not big by any means, perhaps a dozen or so stands, but Sansa is eager to see it nonetheless. These people of the Gift are hers and her husband’s people now and Sansa is going to learn every little thing about these people that she can; beginning with what people sell at their markets.

 

Everyone who sees her greets her with smiles and bows or curtsies and Sansa has a smile for all of them in return. She and Jeyne take the time to look at every stand – freshly butchered sheep and pig meats, an assortment of figurines carved from wood, another stand selling baubles of combs, ribbons and scraps of fabric. At one stand, Sansa buys herself and Jeyne little onion and pig pies and buys one for Lenyl as well.

 

“Hmmmm,” Sansa moans softly once she chews and swallows her first bite. “That’s delicious,” she commends to the stand owner and the man and his wife seem to stand a little taller, the man’s chest puffed out a bit more from his Lady’s compliment. “Could you tell me? What is this cut of the pig you’ve used?”

 

“The feet, My Lady,” the woman answers.

 

Sansa’s eyes widen before she can help herself. “The feet?”

 

She knows that those who raise and slaughter pigs, they use every bit of the animal, but in her life, she has only had certain cuts of the meat; other cuts considered for the more common man. The feet of the pig is certainly not something that would have ever been served to Sansa Stark of House Stark.

 

The man and woman of the stand look a bit nervous now and Sansa eases them with a smile.

 

“It’s delicious,” she tells them again and then takes another bite. The couple seem to breathe once again and with a final smile, Sansa and Jeyne continue on their way.

 

“These really are quite good pies, My Lady,” Jeyne says in between bites of her own.

 

“They certainly are,” Sansa agrees.

 

She looks over her shoulder to see Lenyl following behind once again. He must have enjoyed his pie as well for his is already gone, having been devoured in just a few bites. She looks to the small pie in her hands. Onions and pig feet with a bit of gravy. A simple dish. Some would call it a “poor” dish, only for the lowliest of classes to eat. But Sansa isn’t seeing it this way.

 

She wonders how many others in the Gift makes pies like this – with the simplest and least expensive of ingredients that are still able to melt on Sansa’s tongue. She will speak with Jon once she returns home again. Perhaps there is more the Gift can offer Westeros than others would ever think.

 

…

 

“Enjoy the market, My Lady?” Davos asks once she and Jeyne have returned.

 

“Very much so,” Sansa smiles at him as she removes her gloves and Jeyne helps her with her cloak. “Is My Lord in his chancery?” She asks.

 

“He has moved to your shared solar, My Lady,” Davos answers. “He claims the light is better in there.”

 

Sansa smiles and goes on her way. She had stopped at the stables to collect Dorren and now her lamb walks at her side. She goes by workers and maids on her way and she smiles at them as their eyes meet and they bow or curtesy as she passes. Everyone is working so hard to make this Keep into someplace beautiful and once they harvest their first batches of cranberries and sell them to other Houses and the lower Kingdoms, the Gift will truly be more than just a desolate place on the map everyone else thinks it to be.

 

Outside the solar door between hers and her husband’s chambers, Sansa knocks with growing excitement.

 

It is still so odd to her – this feeling she sometimes gets when she and Jon are seeing to their own responsibilities after their morning meal. Sometimes, Sansa finds that she just misses the sight of him.

 

A raven had come for her this morning from her mother and Sansa had eagerly torn into the letter to see what Catelyn had written to her in response to Sansa’s own letter that she had sent her.

 

_Your father and I did not love one another straight away. It was slow, but it was true and firm; built with the strength of a Keep, brick by brick, not easy to tear down once standing._

Sansa knows she already has deep affection for her husband and she knows that she had thought to be in love with him, but her mother’s words have given her pause. Perhaps it is still too soon to think herself in love. When she had written to her mother of the tightness in her stomach she gets so many times whenever she is around Jon, Catelyn wrote of her own growing fondness for her husband, Sansa’s father, Ned.

 

Perhaps that is what this is. Not love – not yet – but fondness and it is growing to be something deeper.

 

She looks to the simple ring on her finger that Jon had put there and she smiles at just the sight of it. Yes, there is definitely a deep fondness there; if not love. But it _will_ be love. Some day. Of that, Sansa has no doubts.

 

“Enter!” Jon calls from inside and Sansa is smiling as she pushes the door open.

 

“Hello, husband,” she says and she sweeps into the room with Dorren entering as well before she closes the door behind them both once again.

 

She turns back to Jon at his desk and her smile fades. She recognizes the ledger open in front of him as Jon works on the Gift’s accounts. His wife for only three weeks and Sansa already knows that this is Jon’s least favorite task of being a Lord. Her husband hasn’t the mind for numbers. She does not say it as an insult. Robb is completely awful at numbers as well, but mother and father spent hours upon hours of lessons with him until he got the hang of it. Jon has only been Lord for a month. It will take him much longer until he is good at running the accounts. Sansa used to be hopeless with numbers, too, until her mother began giving her intense lessons; training to help her run her own home one day. 

 

Sansa has offered to help, but so far, Jon has refused. 

 

“I must learn it for myself,” he told her the first she asked him if he would like her assistance.

 

It’s why he doesn’t ask Davos or Sam or anyone else to help him. Her husband is a proud, determined man and it’s one of Jon’s qualities that Sansa finds herself liking the most.

 

“Hello, Sansa,” Jon lifts his head to give her a small smile. “How was the market?”

 

“Educational,” she replies and Jon’s lips twitch into another smile before he lowers his head again to continue on with his work.

 

Ghost is lying on the floor by the fire roaring in the hearth and Dorren takes it upon himself to go over to the massive beast and lies down right beside him, crowding into his personal space, with a _Baa_ – as if letting Ghost know of his presence. The direwolf lifts his head and eyes the lamb wearily with his red eyes before he looks to Sansa, as if he is expecting her to help him by taking Dorren away.

 

Sansa only smiles at him before coming and rubbing a hand on Ghost’s head. It’s best they all get used to one another for none of them are going anywhere.

 

Looking to Jon, she sees how frustrated he is. She can see it in the tenseness of his shoulders as he leans over the accounting ledger, the way his fingers of his left hand tunnel through his hair. She knows she should wait to tell him her idea, but if her idea can be successful, it would only give them more money to help with these accounts that Jon stresses himself over.

 

“Jon, I had an idea while I was in the market,” she begins, coming to stand in front of him on the other side of his desk. “I think it could help bring in even more income in addition to our onions and cranberries.”

 

“The cranberries haven’t brought in any income,” Jon reminds her, keeping his head down.

 

Sansa can’t help, but frown a little. “ _Yet_ ,” she corrects him. “We will see the reward at harvest time.”

 

“Hmmmm,” Jon replies, non-committed, and Sansa can’t help, but bristle.

 

“The cranberries are going to bring us great profit, Jon,” Sansa says. “Either as fruit or as clothing dye.”

 

“Yes, My Lady,” Jon speaks. “You have told me that several times now.”

 

“And you don’t believe me?” Sansa feels her shoulders brace themselves into steel.

 

Jon sighs heavily and lifts his head. “At the moment, no, My Lady. I don’t. All I see is the money being spent to build irrigation systems to help flood the cranberry fields with water from the lakes. Right now, all I see is money going _out_ and nothing coming _in_.”

 

“Yes, well, you must spend money to make money, _My Lord_ ,” she says, her eyes narrowed to him.

 

Jon stands up and his own grey eyes turning almost black are reflecting the growing anger that matches her own. “We should have stuck with our asparagus fields,” he tells her.

 

“The asparagus fields that were ruined? The asparagus fields that won’t give us another crop for _years_? Those fields?” She asks.

 

“At least we know that _something_ will come from those fields eventually,” Jon snaps and Sansa almost nearly finds herself startled at his sharp tone. “We have given cranberry plants to men who have no idea how to cultivate or care for them. NONE of us know the first thing about growing cranberries and we’re wasting our time and what little resources and money we have-”

 

“Then why did you agree to it?” Sansa fires off at him. “If this is such an awful idea, why did you let me push it forward and _encourage_ me?” She demands to know.

 

“Because otherwise, what would you be doing?” He is almost shouting now. “Planning meals and ordering the gardeners about in a maze that is of no use to any of us?”

 

Sansa takes a step back from his words as if he has just struck her.

 

Jon exhales a deep breath and his entire body seems to sag as if deflated from air. “Sansa… forgive me. I… I don’t know why I just said all of that. The accounts… I’m stressed.”

 

Sansa says nothing for a moment and he begins to come around the desk to be near her. Sansa quickly takes steps away from him, returning to the door.

 

“I understand, My Lord,” she says in a tight voice, hardly able to look at him. “I will leave you to your work and go find something _useful_ for myself to do. I never wish for My Lord to see me as useless.”

 

“I don’t, Sansa-” Jon begins to say, but Sansa opens the door and leaves the room as quickly as she came.

 

Only once she is down the hall and tears are falling down her cheeks does she remember that she has left Dorren behind, but worse than that, Jon hasn’t come after her.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading and commenting! The next chapter, we will see Jon's thoughts and feelings in reaction to his and Sansa's first disagreement and how he will try to get her forgiveness. Happy New Year!


	17. Your Mess is Mine

…

 

**Seventeen. Your Mess is Mine.**

Jon’s stomach sinks as soon as he sees Jeyne enter the Hall by herself and once she approaches the table on the dais, Jon already knows exactly what she is going to say.

 

“Forgive me, My Lord,” Jeyne says as she curtsies in front of him. “The Lady Sansa is not feeling well this evening and will not be able to come for the evening meal tonight.”

 

Jon swallows before nodding his head towards his wife’s maid. “Thank you for letting me know, Jeyne. Does My Lady need anything?”

 

 _Besides her husband’s balls in a jar?_ He muses silently to himself.

 

“No, My Lord. She is resting and hopefully, will feel better in the morning.”

 

Jeyne curtsies again before excusing herself and Jon sighs heavily, sinking back in his seat, closing his eyes.

 

He has thought of nothing else except Sansa since the second she left their solar. He is angry at himself for not following after her and he is furious at himself for having said what he said to her in the first place. He is not going to blame stress over working on the accounts. That is no excuse. Sansa was just being Sansa – wonderful and helpful and trying to help her mess of a husband who has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. Useless is the last thing his wife is or can ever be.

 

Why he hadn’t rushed after her the instant she left to tell her that very thing is beyond him. He thought that as a woman, furious, the best thing to do would be to give her some space for a time. He had thought of Ygritte furious at him in the past and how she threatened to riddle his body with arrows. He had just assumed that Sansa wouldn’t want him anywhere near her as well.

 

But that’s just another mistake he’s made, isn’t it?

 

Sansa isn’t Ygritte. They are two women who can’t be any more different from one another. But even if they _were_ the same, that still wouldn’t matter because Sansa is his wife and he should always go after his wife when he yells things at her that he doesn’t mean.

 

“Still here, My Lord?”

 

Jon removes his hand from his eyes to look to Davos at his left.

 

The man wipes his mouth with his hand and looks towards Jon more fully. “I would think that a husband who heard his wife isn’t feeling well would go and see her for himself.”

 

Jon has already confided to his advisor of what he had done that afternoon and though Davos had offered him no advice on what he should do, he had not stopped from making his thoughts very clear to Jon through just a look. Perhaps Davos and Sansa should get together and talk about how much of an idiot their Lord is. Jon wouldn’t be surprised if that turned to be a very long conversation between the two.

 

“She will not want to see me,” Jon shakes his head.

 

“Hmmmm,” Davos says, neither agreeing or arguing. He picks up his cup of wine and takes a sip. “I don’t think My Lady’s door has such an opinion.”

 

Jon looks at him for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what Davos means, and then Jon wants to close his eyes again at the obviousness of it.

 

“Thank you, Davos,” he nods towards the man, who nods in return before returning his attention to his supper, and Jon pushes his chair from the table, standing up.

 

“Would you like anything else, My Lord?” One of the kitchen maids instantly appears to ask.

 

“Not at the moment. I will send word if myself or My Lady need anything,” Jon tells her and she quickly curtsies to him before stepping back and giving him room. “Ghost,” he says to the direwolf though there’s no need for him to as Ghost is already on his feet, ready to follow.

 

As Jon leaves the Hall and heads in the direction of Sansa’s chamber, he tries to think of what he will say. He will apologize, of course, but he already knows that that perhaps won’t be enough. He could call himself an idiot and that would only be speaking the truth on the matter. He’s much more than an idiot; perhaps Sansa will provide him with a sufficient adjective.

 

There is a knot that has formed in the base of his stomach and he knows Sansa is the only one who can get it to loosen and make completely disappear.

 

Is she writing a letter this very moment to send to her brother and mother? Is she begging them to let her return to Winterfell and leave her husband and this retched, frozen tundra, allowing her to never return?

 

In just a few weeks, Jon has already developed feelings for his wife; feelings he hadn’t been expecting to have. Perhaps over time – years, yes – but not after such a short time of being married. But he feels them and he knows them to be true. He has never met anyone like Lady Sansa Snow of the Gift and he knows that he never will. If his wife wishes to leave and her brother, the King, grants her request, Jon knows that there will never be another woman in his life. In just a few weeks, Jon has developed such feelings for this woman, he already knows he will never want another.

 

Going into his chamber, Jon closes the door behind himself and Ghost and he then goes through their private solar to Sansa’s chamber door.

 

He takes a deep breath. And then another. He then raises his fist and knocks. He can do this. He has faced so many enemies over the past few years and he has bested them all.

 

Yet, he knows Sansa is the most formidable.

 

“Sansa,” he speaks into the wood when she does not answer. “Jeyne said that you are not feeling well and I wanted to come see if you need anything.”

 

Silence. He is not surprised. He exhales a soft sigh.

 

“I can’t apologize to you enough for my behavior and words earlier,” Jon continues to the door. “There’s no excuse and I should never speak to you like that, no matter what is going on in that moment. You deserve so much more from me than that and if I made you feel useless, for even a second, I understand if…” his words fail him then and Jon can’t even complete his thought.

 

_I understand if you wish to leave and return to Winterfell._

Jon can’t speak that out loud though. Words have power and if he says that, it might make it come true.

 

He sighs softly again and rests his forehead against the wood of the door, trying to hear sounds from the other side. But there’s nothing. For all he knows, Sansa is asleep and hasn’t heard a word he has said.

 

“Sansa,” Jon says and even if she is asleep, he will say this now and then again when she can hear. “I am sorry that you are stuck up here, married to a man like me. We both know that you could have been married to any Lord in Westeros and instead, you’re here, with me and all I want to do is make sure every day, you are happy with me and this afternoon, I lost sight of that for a moment. I promise I will never lose sight of it again. I need you…” he trails off then, almost fearful that he has just said to much - even if it is to the door and a possible sleeping wife.

 

He _does_ need her, but he admits that he’s scared of Sansa knowing that. He needs her as he learns how to be a Lord. She has had training her whole life. His has only been for a couple of months. He has no idea what he’s doing and he’s learning, but every step of the way, he needs help – whether he’s too proud to admit it or not.

 

But that’s not the only way in which he needs her and _that_ is what he is not ready to say. Not yet.

 

There is still no movement or sound coming from his wife’s chamber, but Jon knows he will not leave. He turns and instead of going to sit in his chair at his desk, he slides down until he is sitting on the floor, his back resting to the door. Ghost lays down at his side, his head up, his ears twitching as if he, too, is listening for sounds of Sansa on the other side.

 

Jon doesn’t know how long he sits there, but he knows that he doesn’t move.

 

“Jon?”

 

It is quiet, but he hears it nonetheless.

 

“I’m here,” he answers and he then feels the slightest push against the door, hearing Sansa sit down on the floor on the other side of the door. “Are you feeling alright?” He asks.

 

“Being useless is my greatest fear,” Sansa confesses to him without answering his question.

 

“You’re not useless, Sansa,” Jon immediately responds. “And I hate myself for even making you feel like you are for even a second. We both know you could easily run the Gift without me. I’m about as useful as a third foot.”

 

“You’re the Lord, Jon, and whether you see it yet or not, you’re a good one already,” Sansa tells him.

 

Jon shakes his head though she can’t see it. Now is not the time for her to reassure him. “Sansa, you’re not useless,” he tells her again. “I would be completely lost without you here to help me in matters and your brother must have known how much I would need you.”

 

“Robb is not nearly as stupid as he likes to act, at times,” Sansa says and Jon finds himself smiling at that.

 

No, Robb is not stupid. A man who fought in the long war and survived, while creating alliances and defeating foes and being strategic in winning the North’s independence, rightfully earning the title of King is far from stupid. Jon has always had the greatest amount of respect for his King and close friend and as he has adjusted to being a husband to Sansa – still learning without a doubt – Jon has slowly seen that Robb is far smarter than probably even his advisors realize.

 

Why marry his sister – someone who could easily get Robb any alliance through her marriage that he would want – to a man who has been a Lord for less than a handful of months? Because he knew that not only would Jon die to protect and keep Sansa safe, but Sansa would be perfect in guiding Jon through his new role. And that is all she has done. Everything she has done – the garden maze, the cranberries, the helping with the farmers and construction and overseeing so many different facets of the Keep on a daily basis that Jon doesn’t even think of – it has all been to help him.

 

“I am sorry,” Jon says in a quiet voice.

 

Sansa doesn’t say anything to that and Jon closes his eyes, resting his head back against the door.

 

“Jon?”

 

“I’m here.”

 

“Would a wilding ever be interested in a woman from South of the wall?”

 

Jon finds himself frowning at the question and he thinks of Tormund and Lenyl. “Is there a wilding showing an interest in you?” His voice is low now; an unmistakable dangerous edge to it.

 

Sansa responds to it by laughing softly. “No, My Lord. Not in me.”

 

“Oh.” Jon pauses and thinks, wondering why she would be asking. “Some do. Some don’t. And if a woman from the South does catch their interest, they steal her away to go North of the wall with them.”

 

“Whether or not they wish to be stolen,” Sansa says quietly and Jon thinks she is speaking to herself more than to him.

 

He wishes to ask her why she is asking about this because there obviously is a specific reason, but Jon has no idea what that reason could be. As long as the Wildings here – his friends – have done nothing to her or to any of the other women in the Keep or village. Jon will be sure to investigate this further tomorrow; hopefully, tomorrow, his wife has forgiven him and he can see to other things because if Sansa _hasn’t_ forgiven him, he knows he will be unable to think of anything else.

 

Another bit of time passes, but Jon remains and he doesn’t hear Sansa get up from her side of the door.

 

“Jon?”

 

“I’m here,” he lets her know once more.

 

“We don’t have to grow cranberries,” she says in almost a too-quiet voice for Jon to hear, but he does.

 

“Of course, we’re going to grow cranberries. You’ve said so yourself. Houses pay any amount for fresh fruit and not even to mention clothing dyes. No, My Lady. We are the Gift and, in the Gift, we have sheep, pigs, onions and cranberries. That is what we are going to be known for.”

 

Sansa makes a sound now – something between a laugh and perhaps a sob – and Jon wishes she would open the door so he could look at her and maybe hold her, if she would let him.

 

“And the Gift will be nothing without you by my side, Lady Sansa,” Jon continues. “And I can only hope that you want to stay in the Gift with me despite me being a useless idiot who knows nothing.”

 

Sansa is quiet for another moment; a moment in which the knot in Jon’s stomach tightens so much, if he wasn’t sitting, he knew he would be doubled over from the pain of it.

 

“I am going to open the door,” she says quietly. “Don’t fall back.”

 

Jon instantly pushes himself to his knees and turns himself around as Sansa pulls open the door. She is there, on her own knees, and she looks at him without saying anything else. Her eyes are red and he knows that she has been crying since that afternoon and Jon wants to reach for her, but he doesn’t dare. Her eyes are red because of _him_ and he doesn’t deserve to reach for her.

 

Sansa is the one to move forward on her knees and when he sees her move, Jon moves forward, too, and then her arms are around his neck and his around her waist, both hugging one another tightly. Jon feels like he is breathing again, the knot in his gut loosening a bit with every passing beat that Sansa holds onto him, and he closes his eyes, turning his face to her hair.

 

Sansa exhales a shaky breath and he thinks she is crying again, but she is holding him so tightly, Jon can’t pull back to look to her face and ask her why she is.

 

“I will never leave your side, Jon,” she whispers to him then.

 

Not even a slip of air could fit between their bodies at the moment and Jon wishes there was a way he could be even closer to her. Well… there is and perhaps, he will suggest that to her in some way, but later. He doesn’t know if Sansa wishes to be with him like that again anytime soon.

 

“And I will never leave yours,” Jon vows in return.

 

He has vowed the same to his King and spoke of the same in the Godswood and now, he vows to her. She is the only person he will ever make any vow to again.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading and leaving comments! This chapter was probably _too_ fluffy, but I needed this today. In the next chapter, Sansa learns exactly what Ygritte had meant when she mentioned Jon's mouth. Also, to those who like the Jeyne/Lenyl pairing, we will also see them again in the next chapter (and pictures of inspiration I have for them). Thank you again!


	18. Let Me Drown in You

…

 

**Eighteen. Let Me Drown in You.**

“This… is not… proper!” The last word leaves Sansa as a shout and her fingers tighten in Jon’s hair as her back bows sharply from the bed.

 

Jon only lifts his eyes to look up his wife’s naked body, smiling a bit, before getting back to the task at hand. He hadn’t been expecting this; doing this to her – but he’s certainly not complaining.

 

After they stood up from the floor, both sets of knees aching from kneeling on the cold, stone floor, Jon had sent for some late supper from the kitchens and Jeyne had been sent for to help Sansa ready herself for bed. And then, both in their nightclothes, they finally sat down with one another in their solar to eat together. Conservations had been light, both finding comfort in one another’s presence. Sansa spoke of another letter she had received from Wynafryd Manderly and Jon told her of the rest of the accounting.

 

“I can help you,” Sansa told him in a quiet voice; as if she was treading so carefully to not cause another argument to spark between them again.

 

“I know you can,” Jon said and his lips twitched into the smallest smile while his hand reached and covered hers. “I would like to keep trying to do it on my own though, but if I do need help, of course, you will be the first person I ask.”

 

Sansa had smiled softly at that and Jon squeezed her hand they continued eating their supper.

 

When their plates had been cleared away and they were alone again, Jon had been unsure of how to continue this evening because he wasn’t sure where they now stood. Yes, they had had a fight and they had seemed to make amends, but Jon still felt a bit lost as to what should be done now. He knew what he wanted, but he didn’t know if he should say it out loud to Sansa.

 

Swallowing, he decided to go for it. “If you would like… I would very much like to share a bed this evening,” he told her and then quickly added, “Just to sleep. I would like to sleep beside you tonight, Sansa.”

 

He had no idea what to expect. He wouldn’t blame Sansa if she didn’t wish to share a bed with him tonight. Even if she had forgiven him, Jon knew that he had deeply hurt her and though she had seemed to forgive him, perhaps she was still not prepared in the least for spending any amount of time with him.

 

Whatever she decided, it would be her decision, of course, and Jon would agree to anything she said. He could only hope that this didn’t set them back. Before his behavior earlier this past afternoon, he had felt that they had been making progress with one another; building a good marriage between them and Jon doesn’t want to lose that with her.

 

Sansa did not answer straight away. She stood in front of him and looked to him and he wondered how hard she had to think of her answer to his request.  

 

But then, without a word, she gave him a small smile and reached a hand out, taking his, and Jon did not need her to speak after that.

 

…

 

Sansa kissed him first and as soon as she did, Jon was kissing her in return, each meeting of their lips making his heart feel lighter in his chest. When he gently pushed her onto her back, Sansa made sure to bring him with her so his body was on top of her. He nearly sighed with relief when she brought him there and he must have actually let out a sigh into her mouth without even realizing it because she laughed a little then and Jon found himself smiling.

 

He didn’t know who began lifting her nightgown. Perhaps it was him. Perhaps it was her. Either way, Sansa was soon lying naked beneath him and then, again, either he or she began pulling at his clothes so he was just as naked and both continued kissing as their bare skin pressed together.

 

“Jon,” Sansa murmured and Jon knew that she wanted to say something more than just his name.

 

Slowly, almost with difficultly, Jon was able to lift his lips from hers and he looked down to her face, his knuckles brushing lightly back and forth across one of her cheeks.

 

“Sansa,” he stated her name with the smallest smile and it made Sansa smile, too.

 

Sansa’s knuckles began rubbing against his chest. “Ygritte, when she was here…” her words trailed off and she visibly swallowed and Jon found himself holding his breath, wondering what she would say. If it was about Ygritte, there was no possible way that it could be something good. “She mentioned your mouth and… there was something you did with your mouth that wasn’t just kisses.”

 

Jon’s mind began to race. He knew exactly what Ygritte had been talking about, but before he could wonder why she would be talking about that with Sansa, he looked into Sansa’s eyes and she was looking into his, both with a hint of curiosity and nervousness all mixed together.

 

He, himself, swallow, suddenly feeling a bit nervous as well for some reason. “I would very much like to show you,” he told her and she let out a breath before giving him a small smile. “Do you trust me?” He asked.

 

“Yes,” Sansa answered without pause even as she was clearly confused with him asking her that.

 

Jon couldn’t describe the relief he felt in his chest at her answer and how quickly she had given it.

 

He gave her a small smile and then gave her a gentle kiss on her lips before he slowly moved downwards, his lips kissing patches of her skin, moving slowly, wanting to ease her into it. A breath caught in Sansa’s throat as his lips found her breasts and she wondered if this was what Ygritte was talking about because if it was, it felt absolutely wonderful and she was already beginning to feel herself grow hotter. He kissed each one and sucked gently on her nipples and Sansa let out a quiet moan, her fingers gripping his arms.

 

But Jon moved his mouth away from her breasts and continued moving on lower and all Sansa felt that she could do was continue to hold onto him.

 

…

 

“This… is not… proper!” The last word leaves Sansa as a shout and her fingers tighten in Jon’s hair as her back bows sharply from the bed.

 

Jon only lifts his eyes to look up his wife’s naked body, smiling a bit, before getting back to the task at hand.

 

Sansa has never felt _anything_ like this before and even if she has felt anything remotely like this, she already knows that this can’t be compared to anything in this world. This feels… Sansa knows her mind is a cloud right now, but even if it wasn’t, she knows that there would be no words to describe this.

 

Her husband has his mouth between her thighs and he’s licking and tasting her and his mouth sometimes sucks and his fingers are involved and there’s just _so much_ he’s doing, even with her eyes closed, Sansa can feel her world spinning around her.

 

She had had no idea that such a thing like this existed in the world. Does every man know about this? She doesn’t want to think of her husband doing such a thing with Ygritte or how many times he had to practice it because Sansa thinks he might just be the best in all of Westeros at doing this. She only wants to think of Jon – only ever Jon – and what he is doing to her right now.

 

She cries out loudly when Jon begins rubbing his thumb against her bud. Her hips all, but fly from the bed as she feels herself fall apart with pleasure – shaking and burning up. And then something happens. Something that shocks both of them. It’s as if she explodes. She can feel it happening and for one mortifying moment, she fears that she has actually lost her bladder. Everything is just so… wet.

 

Jon has pulled his face away from between her thighs and he’s sitting back on his knees, staring at her as if he’s never seen such a thing and Sansa can’t even meet his eyes. His beard is absolutely drenched and she can even see his lips glistening.

 

Sansa covers her face with her hands, feeling hot tears flood her eyes as she scrambles away, laying on her side in a ball at the far side of the bed.

 

“Sansa,” Jon says gently. “Sansa.”

 

She feels him crawl onto the bed and then he’s behind her.

 

“Sansa,” he says again, but she shakes her head, keeping her hands covering her face.

 

She has no idea how she will ever look at him again.

 

“Sansa, please look at me,” Jon says, his hand rubbing up and down her arm.

 

“No. I’ll never look at you again,” Sansa says from behind her hands.

 

Jon lets out a soft chuckle and gently, he rolls her to her back, Sansa allowing herself to be rolled. “That would be a terrible thing to do to your husband, My Lady,” he tells her.

 

Sansa shakes her head, but finally, she lowers her hands so she can look into his face. He has cleaned it off on something; probably wiping it on one of the furs.

 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, still feeling her face flushed with the embarrassment.

 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Jon shakes his head, staring into her eyes. “You reacting like that to me, it was incredible, Sansa.”

 

“You’re not disgusted?” She can’t quite believe that. She soaked him; practically drowning him and she still has no idea what had happened that would cause her to do that.

 

Jon smiles at her and lifts a hand to the side of her face. “No, I’m not disgusted and you shouldn’t be either.”

 

Sansa wants to believe him, but she’s having a hard time doing so.

 

“Did you like when I kissed you down there?” He asks.

 

“Very much so,” Sansa answers truthfully. “But I don’t want to drown you if you ever do it again.”

 

Jon chuckles again and he shakes his head before lowering his head and kissing her softly on the lips. Sansa thinks she can catch the faintest hint of something on his lips that she’s never tasted before and it takes her a moment to realize that it’s _her_. Her heart is drumming, hard and loud, in her chest as she looks up to this man. Her husband – who she has fallen in love with and wishes she could tell him such a thing.

 

Certainly not right now though. Now is nowhere close to being the right moment.

 

Slowly, Jon lifts his lips from hers. “I hope that you do,” he whispers.

 

…

 

He’s being very obvious and Jeyne has to wonder if he's doing that on purpose. What little she knows of him though, she doesn't doubt that he is. 

 

“Hello, Harmund,” she smiles to the man who works in the stables. “I’m here to get Dorren for My Lady.”

 

“Of course, Jeyne,” the somewhat portly man smiles at her before sending one of the other stable boys off to go get Sansa’s lamb.  

 

Jeyne finds herself drawn to the rows of horses – as she usually does when she comes to fetch Dorren. She has always loved horses and sometimes, back in Winterfell, she would sneak away to the stables to sneak the animals bits of apples and carrots, feeling more comfortable with them than with people at times. She has also begun sneaking the horses in the Keep’s stables here food as well and they seem to have already learned that about her in this short time.

 

She doesn’t know if she’s allowed to – not sure if a mere maid would be permitted to – but she wishes she could take one of these horses for a ride. She misses riding.

 

Jeyne smiles as she rubs at the snout of a beautiful dark brown mare, the horse letting out a snort and shuffling closer to her. She laughs as the mare nudges at her.

 

“I don’t have anything for you today, my Love,” Jeyne says. “Perhaps I will come after supper tonight and surprise you all with treats.” She continues rubbing the mare’s snout and gives her a kiss. “It’s rude to stalk without permission,” she then says, keeping her back turned to him.

 

Lenyl snorts. “That seems to be the difference between you and me. I do what I want and you seem to have to ask permission to take a shite.”

 

That makes Jeyne spin around to look at him; or rather _glare_ at him with a set jaw and narrowed eyes. Lenyl is standing there and when he sees the rise he has gotten out of her, he grins. She wishes she understood why this man seems to get such enjoyment out of bothering her and trying to get on her nerves. She knows that she will probably never understand. He is a wilding. She is never supposed to understand him.

 

“Here we are, Jeyne,” Harmund returns with Dorren on his rope.

 

“Thank you,” Jeyne remembers to smile at the man as she takes the rope and the lamb begins trotting from the stable, knowing that they are going to see Sansa. Jeyne follows after him, but stops just as she is about to pass Lenyl. Dorren lets out a _baa_ , not happy to be stopped. “There’s another difference between you and me, Lenyl,” she says to the man who’s still grinning at her. “When I take a shite, I do it indoors. You shite outside like you’re nothing more than an animal with the manners and personality to match.”

 

With that, she begins to walk away, following Dorren as the lamb leads them towards the Keep and as she walks, she can feel Lenyl’s eyes following after her. Before she can stop herself, she glances back over her shoulder and sure enough, he is looking at her, the grin gone from his face and he almost looks… contemplative. She quickly looks forward again before he mistakes her looking at him as an invitation for him to follow her.

 

She can’t help, but wonder what he is thinking. Is he thinking of her?

 

She shakes her head at that. Why would she ever want that wilding man to have her in his thoughts?

 

…

 

 

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/27464164@N07/32842436318/in/photostream/) Lenyl and Jeyne character inspiration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was the kind of chapter that wrote itself. I seriously felt as if my fingers were just moving without thought and this is what came from it. I hope it's alright because I know how random it might seem. Jeyne and Lenyl will make unexpected progress in the next chapter and when the garden maze is complete, Sansa can't wait to show Jon.


	19. The Hedge Maze

…

 

**Nineteen. The Hedge Maze.**

Sansa tells herself not to clap, but of course, she does, not caring about a Lady’s manners in this moment. She claps and nearly squeals and bounces on her toes.

 

“Oh, Duncan,” she says, almost hushed, when she looks upon the hedge maze in front of her, completely amazed at the transformation it has gone under. All of the hedges have been neatly trimmed, all dead branches, leaves and weeds have been removed, and at the entrance, Duncan has planted two hedges and have shaped them so they look like sheep – one on either side of the entrance, keeping guard.

 

Sansa doubts that there is a garden in all of King’s Landing that can rival the hedge maze in the Gift.

 

Honestly, looking at it, Sansa feels tears forming in her eyes. “It’s absolutely perfect. Truly,” she tells the gardener, turning towards him, and the man blushed at the compliment. And then, not giving a foot about propriety at the moment, she hugs him.

 

Duncan is understandably taken aback and does not even think of hugging his Lady in return, but when Sansa steps back again and she smiles at him, Duncan is able to smile at her as well.

 

Sansa admits that she wants to head right into the maze this instant and find her way to the middle, but she holds herself back. She knows Jon is in the training yard and will be there for most of the day. Perhaps she can go to the kitchens and prepare a surprise picnic for the both of them so they can experience their new hedge maze together. That sounds the much better option.

 

Sansa turns to Jeyne with a smile. “I need to go to the kitchens.”

 

“Of course, My Lady,” Jeyne smiles and Sansa wouldn’t be surprised if her friend has already guessed as to what is Sansa now planning.

 

“Dorren!” Sansa calls out to the lamb who is sniffing at one of the sheep-shaped hedges and with a _Baa_ , Dorren comes back towards her.  

 

Sansa and Jeyne, with Dorren trotting behind them – sometimes stopping to sniff at a spot of ground – head back indoors and veer towards the kitchens so Sansa can discuss her picnic plans with the cook. She’s trying to think of a menu that can be packed easily and which will fill Jon’s belly with warm food after a hard day of training the men and sparring with them.

 

Her mind travels back to those pig feet and onion pies she and Jeyne, as well as Lenyl, had had at the market and how delicious they had been. She had meant to tell Jon all about them that day, but they had had their first fight and after that, all thoughts of pies had fled her mind, only returning now.

 

She wonders if making those pies and selling them to the rest of the six Kingdoms would be possible; logistically speaking. Exporting and transporting cranberries and onions are something a bit different. Both won’t be spoiled within a few hours; unlike the pies that, once made and cooked, must be eaten in a relative short time or the gravy, Sansa imagines, will soak through the pies and make quite a mess.

 

No, shipping pies out of the Gift to other areas might not be possible at all.

 

Maybe…

 

“You’re a far distance away, My Lady,” Jeyne notes.

 

“I am,” Sansa agrees and then shakes her head, as if to rid herself of all of these thoughts – for now. She smiles at her friend and loops her arm through Jeyne’s. “I am just trying to think of what foods Jon would like to eat for our hedge maze picnic.”

 

Jeyne smiles as well. “I think whatever you pack, My Lord will love it. I know something, for certain, that he would love to eat.”

 

“Jeyne!” Sansa exclaims, aghast and her cheeks exploding into a fire.

 

“I was speaking of your mouth, My Lady,” Jeyne tells her, trying to stop a laugh from bursting past her lips at Sansa’s scandalized reaction. “What else would I be talking about?” She then asks curiously, wondering what Sansa thought she meant to have such a reaction.

 

Sansa visibly swallows and quickly shakes her head. “Nothing,” she is quick to tell Jeyne and as much as she loves Jeyne, there is no way she will confine in her and tell her what Jon had done to her with his mouth.

 

It had very much been as if he was feasting on her and just at the memory of it now, Sansa feels a pulsing between her thighs. Jon had told her that he had loved doing it, even as she flooded him with her wetness – her desire, Jon called it – and suddenly, Sansa has an image of her lying on the ground in the center of their garden maze, her dress pulled to her waist and Jon doing that very thing again with his mouth on her.

 

Her cheeks remain on fire and she walks a little bit faster to the kitchens, pulling Jeyne with her. She has a feeling that if she suggested doing _that_ with Jon, he wouldn’t at all refuse.

 

…

 

As he stood at Jon’s side, Del reminded himself that he was almost ten-years-old and boys his age did not cry and as he watched his father leave the Queenscrown Keep to return back to North of the wall, his eyes _did_ feel a bit wet and stinging with tears, but Del told himself that it was the harsh wind blowing that day that made his eyes feel like they were about to leak.

 

Jon didn’t say anything and simply squeezed a hand on Del’s shoulder. “Come,” was all he said and Del nodded, turning away, not watching his father become more and more of a distant dot.

 

Now, he finds himself in the yard, a wooden sword in his hand, and Jon is beginning his training.

 

Jon told him that he, himself, was a page when he was a boy and Del will learn to yield a sword and fight as a  soldier learns. He will also care for Jon’s horse and from Lady Sansa, he will learn his letters.

 

“You will also learn manners and dancing from My Lady,” Jon had told him, cracking a small smile at Del’s look of disgust.

 

“Why do I have to learn that stuff?” Del asked, almost demanding.

 

“Because you’re a page and that’s what pages learn,” Jon had said simply.

 

Once he was done with his page training, Del was going to go home and North of the Wall, he would have no need of dancing or even knowing his letters, but his father had told him that he might not want to live North of the Wall forever like he and Del’s older brothers do.

 

“You might be something more,” Tormund had said to him before hugging him goodbye.

 

Jon is showing him the proper stance and how to hold his sword.

 

“I know how to fight,” Del can’t help, but frown.

 

“Aye, you know how to fight like a wildling,” Jon replies. “Now, this is how a soldier fights.”

 

Del has a retort on his tongue to that, but he manages to swallow it down. He knows Jon and Lord Jon Snow is one of the greatest swordsmen South of the Wall. Everyone – even the people in his own clan – knows it and Del knows he’s lucky to be learning under him – whether he thinks he needs learning or not – and his father had wanted him to learn from Jon. Del has always obeyed his father and if he wants Del to be a page and learn ways of these Southern folk, then that’s what Del will do; reluctantly, but he’ll do it.

 

“Good,” Jon nods once he corrects Del’s stance and the boy stays that way. He walks a few feet away and then turns back to him. “Now, let me see you charge me.”

 

Del takes a deep breath and then, holding his sword with both hands high over his head, he comes running. It almost looks like Jon is about to start smiling as he easily side-steps Del’s attack, spins back around, grabbing one of Del’s shoulders, and Del can feel the point of Jon’s wooden sword to the back of his neck .

 

Hearing a booming laugh, Del turns his head to scowl at Lenyl, who is standing off to the side, leaning against his own practice sword as he watches. Beside him is Jeyne, Lady Sansa’s maid, and her lips are pursed together as if she is going to smile, too, but is stopping herself before she does.

 

“You think you can do better?” Del snaps at him.

 

“Jon’s portly maester can do better than that,” Lenyl answers, still grinning.

 

“Sam might surprise you,” Jon smiles and then releases Del to come to Lenyl and Jeyne. “Is all well with My Lady?” He asks Jeyne.

 

Jeyne gives him a quick curtsy. “It is, My Lord. I am just here to inform you that when you break for your noon meal, you are to come and find her at the hedge maze.”

 

Jon looks at her curiously, but he doesn’t ask Jeyne for more details. He nods. “Of course. Tell My Lady I will meet her there at noon.”

 

Jeyne smiles and gives him another curtsy and Jon turns back to continue his beginning training with Del.

 

“So does this mean you’re free for the noon meal?” He hears Lenyl ask and for one brief second, Jon doesn’t know who he’s asking.

 

But then he hears Jeyne.

 

“It seems that way,” is her reply and Jon doesn’t look back to the two as he crosses back to Del.

 

He has wondered why Lenyl has stayed behind instead of returning back North with Tormund this morning. Jon then remembers Sansa asking about Wildings ever having interest in Southern women.

 

The reason for Lenyl staying behind in the Gift is suddenly an obvious one and Jon smiles a little to himself.

 

Huh, Jon thinks to himself. That’s interesting.

 

He wonders if Lenyl will be staying in the Gift for an extended – more permanent – period of time because of Sansa’s maid. Or maybe, Jeyne will leave to go be with Lenyl North of the Wall. Sansa certainly won’t like it if she loses her dearest friend, but Jon shakes his head. He’s not going to think on that – not yet, at least. He doesn’t even know if it will lead to something that he _does_ have to think on.

 

…

 

Sansa smiles the instant she sees her husband.

 

It seems like Jon has come straight from the training yards and Sansa will admit to herself that she very much likes when he’s a bit dirty and sweaty, still wearing his training garb.

 

Jon smiles as well at the sight of her and then he takes note of the sheep hedges. “It’s finished,” he concludes.

 

“Duncan snipped the last branch this morning,” Sansa says and is still smiling. “I know it’s not important-”

 

Jon has reached her and before she can continue, Jon’s hand snakes on the back of her neck and he pulls her into a kiss, the remainder of her sentence dying in her throat.

 

“It’s important,” he murmurs to her once their lips part.

 

Sansa can’t think of anything else to say and she just smiles, leaning into him as if needing his help to keep her standing. Jon smiles as if he can read her mind and his other arm circles around her waist.

 

“I have packed us a lunch and have placed it in the center of the maze for us to enjoy in private,” she says.

 

Jon smiles the instant he hears that and Sansa smiles, too.

 

“I was thinking you would like to play a game?” Sansa then suggests.

 

“A game, My Lady?” Jon asks, his arm tightening around her waist.

 

“Yes, a game,” she nods, already feeling herself blush. “Perhaps I go in first and My Lord stays out here and count to ten before you come in after me.”

 

“What do I get when I catch you?” He wonders.

 

“When and not if?” Sansa teases. “Anything,” she then answers.

 

“Anything?” He makes sure, his arm tightening once again.

 

“Anything,” she whispers as she ghosts her lips across his.

 

She has to wonder if she has always been this bold or if it has only come to the surface since meeting and marrying this man. During the war, she had been left in charge of Winterfell and Bran and Rickon while Robb and Catelyn had been on the battlefronts, and she knows that such a responsibility certainly requires boldness and bravery both, but Sansa – in a way – feels even more brave since coming here, to the Gift and becoming the Lady. She wonders if she makes Jon feel brave in any way?

 

“One,” Jon begins to count. “Two…”

 

With a laugh, Sansa pushes herself from his arm and holding up her skirt, she turns and runs off into the maze, hearing Jon laughing behind her.

 

She had already been to the center to deposit their lunch, but that doesn’t mean that she has every turn memorized already. She turns and as soon as she sees the dead end, she spins back around to go off into another direction.

 

“Ten!” She hears Jon shout and she imagines her husband running after her.

 

She makes a sharp turn. “Drat!” She exclaims under her breath when she comes upon another dead end.

 

She is trying to hear her husband’s footsteps so that she might figure out where he is in the maze and avoid him catching her, but it’s completely silent except birds chirping and her own breath.

 

Sansa turns to find another way and lets out a startled yelp when she turns right into her husband’s chest.

 

“You cheated!” She bursts out before she can help herself.

 

“How could I possibly have done that?” Jon asks. “I’ve never been in this maze before today.”

 

“Then _how_ did you find me so fast?” She demands to know and Jon smiles at her tone.

 

“Your smell,” he informs her and then moves his face closer, dipping it down to press to the side of her throat, placing a kiss there.

 

“I smell?” Sansa asks, horrified at the notion.

 

“Like rose water,” Jon nods. “Nothing smells sweeter than you. It’s easy to follow.”

 

Sansa is quiet for a moment, thinking that over. “Well… I suppose that’s a good explanation for finding me.”

 

Jon chuckles and pressing one more kiss to her throat, he pulls his head back so he can look at her. “So what did you say I got if I caught you? Anything, I believe?”

 

Sansa finds herself becoming very warm and the pulsing between her thighs returns.

 

She nods. “Anything,” she whispers just as Jon captures her mouth with his own.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff and more fluff. Thank you so, so much for reading and commenting and still loving this story. I have a plan for the next couple of chapters, but I don't want to give anything away so I won't talk about it. We will return to Winterfell shortly though for Robb's wedding. Thank you again!


	20. A Visit with Maester Tarly

…

 

**Twenty. A Visit with Maester Tarly.**

Sansa takes a deep breath, and then another, before finally lifting her fist to knock on the closed door.

 

“Enter!” The voice from inside answers.

 

With another deep breath, Sansa does so, stepping into the Maester’s chancery, smiling faintly as her eyes land upon her husband’s friend and their Maester. He is a portly man with his cheeks almost always stained pink and a smile seems to always be permanently resided on his face – except when he is working, like he is now. Then, there is the slightest frown and furrow of his brow. Bent over his books now, he reminds Sansa of Jon when he’s bent over the accounts.

 

Sansa knows that he is Jon’s dear friend and since arriving in Queenscrown, Sam has been nothing, but perfectly kind to her; as if he is well and truly happy that Sansa is his friend’s wife.

 

Sansa likes Sam very much, but right now, she doesn’t know how she will be able to keep looking into Sam’s eyes when she speaks; especially once she tells him what she has to tell him. After all, the Maester is going to be very important to her and hopefully, will be so quite soon. 

 

“My Lady,” Sam hurries to his feet and gives her a small bow when he sees that it’s her.

 

“Hello, Maester Tarly,” she smiles warmly at him.

 

“Please call me Sam,” he tells her and she’s not surprised at all that he has.

 

“Then you must call me Sansa,” she tells him in return.

 

“Oh, I couldn’t-” Sam begins to shake his head.

 

“You can and you absolutely will,” Sansa cuts off his argument. “Do you have a moment to speak with me?”

 

“For you? Of course… Sansa,” he says after a moment’s pause.

 

Sansa gives him a small smile, already feeling the flush on the back of her neck as she turns to close the door once more so that no one would interrupt them. Turning back to the room, Sam is clearing papers and books from one of the chairs in front of the fire and then he gestures that Sansa should sit there.

 

With a smile, she does, and Sam stokes at the fire so the dwindling flames in the hearth roar to life once more and the room instantly feels warmer. He then takes the seat opposite her.

 

“I hope I’m not bothering you when you’re too busy, Sam,” Sansa begins with a smile.

 

“I am never too busy for the Lady of the Keep,” Sam assures her and his reply keeps the smile easily on Sansa’s face.

 

“I was… well, I needed to ask your help with something,” Sansa manages to get out and she has already decided that it will probably be best to get this out as quickly as she can.

 

“Anything,” Sam readily agrees.

 

Sansa pauses only long enough to swallow a sudden patch of dryness in her throat. “It appears that I’m late… with my bleeding and I was hoping you would be able to see if I am with child.”

 

She can feel her own face warming from having to tell him and request that of him, but if she expects Sam to be having the same reaction to her words, she is instantly shown wrong. Sam looks at her as she speaks and then, as soon as she is done, a smile begins to creep across his face.

 

“Truly?” He asks.

 

And because he is smiling, Sansa finds herself beginning to smile as well.

 

She nods quickly. “Yes,” she says. “I’ve actually always been regular and missing a cycle, it was something I noticed straight away, but I wanted to wait a few days, just to make certain. It’s a week late now.”

 

Sam looks at her for a moment and then slaps a hand on his chair’s arm. “That’s fantastic news, Sansa.”

 

Sansa almost laughs at that. “We don’t know if I’m with child, yet, Sam, or if I’m late for some other reason.”

 

“You are. I can feel it. Not very logical of me, I know, but I’m still going with my feeling on this,” Sam says and then stands up, gesturing for Sansa to do the same. “Jon will be so happy once we tell him the news. He has said that there’s nothing more important than getting you with child as soon as he can. Must make sure that there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that Jon is the true Lord of this land and having a child with the former Lady Stark of Winterfell will certainly silence the critics.”

 

He continues talking as he returns to his desk and begins to turn the pages in a particular book.

 

Sansa is hardly hearing anything right now though as she keeps hearing what Sam has already said.

 

She knows she and Jon are expected to have children. It’s part of their duties as Lord and Lady of the Gift. But there’s something about it that makes a heavy stone settle in the pit of Sansa’s stomach that she can’t necessarily fully explain as to why it’s there.

 

It almost sounds like as if Jon’s attentions towards her has only been because he has wanted to get her with child. All of the times they have shared a bed – or a hedge maze – together, Sansa has learned to very much enjoy the coupling she has with her husband. Jon always seems to take great care in making sure that it’s feeling as pleasurable for her as it feels for him. Sometimes, he will only use his mouth on her and nothing else. But more than it just feeling as good as it does, Sansa also loves coupling with Jon because it’s with _Jon_.

 

And she loves Jon.

 

_He has said that there’s nothing more important than getting you with child as soon as he can._

_Having a child with the former Lady Stark of Winterfell will certainly silence the critics._

She knows that she’s overreacting and tries to tell herself as much. Jon is Jon and he’s her husband and getting her with child _is_ one of the most important things he must do.

 

Then why does she suddenly feel that stone in her stomach from the seemingly innocent words Sam has said?

 

Because she loves her husband. She’s in love with her husband and suddenly, Sansa feels like she's nothing more than a warm body for her husband to dump his nightly deposit into.

 

She looks down to the simple silver ring on her finger that Jon had gifted her with and which Sansa hasn’t taken off since Jon has placed it there. He has been so kind to her in so many instances. Sansa had thought that he, perhaps, had growing feelings for her that matched her own for him.

 

She hasn’t imagined everything they have shared since their wedding – not every look or touch or kiss or conversation. She knows she hasn’t. And yet, the stone in her stomach remains.

 

“… My Lady?”

 

Sam’s voice breaks through her loud thoughts and Sansa finally hears and looks to him. It’s obvious that he has been still speaking and trying to get her attention and Sansa hasn’t heard a word.

 

“I’m sorry, Sam,” she says and does her best to give him a smile. “I’m suddenly a bit distracted.”

 

“Of course, you are,” Sam smiles that warm smile of his. “I was just asking… um, well, do you have to relieve yourself, My Lady?” He asks and the question seems far too personal, somehow, for him to use her name.

 

“Not at the moment.”

 

“Well, when you do, have your maid bring the chamber pot to me,” Sam instructs. “There is a chemical I mix in with your…” he pauses to clear his throat. “With your urine and it will tell me if you’re with child or not.”

 

“Thank you, Sam,” Sansa gives him a small smile. “I’ll bring it to you myself once I have some to give.”

 

“Very good… Sansa,” he smiles at her and her smile is a bit easier to form this time.

 

When she leaves the Maester’s chancery with obvious promises to return, the smile slowly slips from Sansa’s face once again and the fingers of her right hand return to fiddling with the ring on her left.

 

She needs to stop these thoughts, she knows. If she and Jon are going to have a baby, it will be such a cause for celebration. She will most definitely have to plan a feast for everyone if the news is what they hope it to be. And she should be happy right now; not riddled with thoughts from words that Sam didn’t even mean for her to interpret them as she has. She might be with child. She might be having a baby.

 

And honestly, she’s never wanted anything more than to have a baby of her own.

 

She knows Jon doesn’t love her. He cares for her and he is kind to her and what more does she need from a husband than that? Even her mother said that she and Sansa’s father did not love one another straight away; that these things take time. She and Jon have only been married for a few months. Did she really expect her marriage to be like one of her songs of men and women sharing the most beautiful loves for one another that the world has known and after just a few short months?

 

… _yes_.

 

“Stop it, Sansa,” she whispers to herself.

 

She’s not a young girl anymore, following her mother around, mirroring every action and making a game of it.

 

She is a wife now. A Lady of her own House. House Snow of the Gift and a new House, such as theirs, needs a strong Lady next to the Lord to help create something from nothing. That is, after all, the reason why Robb had facilitated this marriage between Jon and herself in the first place; because her brother knows her to be strong and she is not going to be sad over the fact that her husband might not love her.

 

No, not might. _Doesn’t_.

 

Finally walking down the hall away from Sam’s door, she begins to head in the direction of the kitchens. She needs to get herself some water to drink so she will have to use the chamber pot sooner rather than later. Knowing if she is with child or not is the most important thought on her mind right now.

 

Her very own baby to love and hold and cherish. If it is a son, that will be better for House Snow and she knows that disappointment will be natural if their first child is a girl, but Sansa will love any daughter as much as any son – even if no one else will. A daughter to make dresses for and brush and braid her hair just like Catelyn had done for Sansa when she was a little girl.

 

Winterfell had been in such celebration when Sansa was born, she has been told more than once. Ned had ordered the bells to ring all day and night after her birth and though she had never asked, Sansa knows that it wouldn’t have been the same if she had been the first born rather than the second. A first-born son is what every noble family wishes to have and if a daughter is to be second, that’s perfectly fine, but not first. A daughter should never be born first or there will be even more pressure on her and Jon for their second.

 

Jeyne is sitting in the Hall, in one of the chairs at one of the monstrous hearths, a fire roaring in front of her as she works on her needlepoint. She sees Sansa approaching from the corner of her eye and she instantly breaks into a smile once she sees her. She stands up and hurries to Sansa’s side.

 

“Good news, My Lady?” Jeyne asks softly so no one else can overhear.

 

“I don’t know yet. I have to relieve myself,” Sansa tells her with a smile.

 

Jeyne laughs and Sansa loops her arm through hers, so grateful that she still is able to have her dearest friend here with her. Sansa doesn’t know what she would do if she didn’t have Jeyne at her side.

 

“So, where are we off to?” Jeyne wonders as they walk.

 

“To the kitchens, of course,” Sansa smiles and the smile is true and easy to form. “I need water.”

 

Jeyne’s laughter echoes across the Hall and Sansa joins in.

 

_Having a child with the former Lady Stark of Winterfell will certainly silence the critics._

 

Sam’s voice creeps back into her mind though, whether Sansa wants it there or not; and she definitely does not want it there. Her husband’s feelings towards her don’t matter. They _shouldn’t_ matter. She hates that she has to keep reminding herself of that. Jon is kind to her and that’s so much more than other women get when it comes to their husband’s treatment of them. Sansa has nothing to complain about.

 

Absolutely nothing.

 

She can’t deny it though. It would be so wonderful if her husband did love her.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much! I don't know what you will think of this chapter so all I can hope is that you liked it! Sometimes, a person gets a thought in their head that they can't get out again.


	21. Pillow Talk

…

 

**Twenty-One. Pillow Talk.**

When Jon finally enters the bedchamber, Sansa is fast asleep. Going over the final papers with Davos for the day had gone longer than Jon had anticipated and though he knows she probably tried to wait up for him, it had grown far too late.

 

He smiles when he can see her shape in his bed – he likes to think of it as _their_ bed – and the fire has gotten too low to see her clearly. Leaving that for a moment, Jon strips himself of his clothes, leaving on a pair of breeches. Though he and Sansa have been intimate with one another so many times now, he doesn’t know how she would react if he was to come to bed, completely naked.

 

Then, he goes to the fire and stoke the flames, feeding them another log of wood. The fire grows almost instantly, providing more light, and Jon can feel the warmth on his bare chest, and when he turns back to _their_ bed, he can see Sansa easily now, she lying on her side, facing his empty side of the bed. But she’s not alone.

 

“Dorren,” Jon speaks to the lamb in a quiet voice. “Get off the bed.”

 

Dorren lifts his head and stares at Jon, as if the animal is daring to tell him that again.

 

Jon will not be intimidated though. His wife loves this lamb, he knows, but he likes to think that Sansa would take Jon’s side if it came down to him or Dorren in _their_ bed.

 

“Dorren,” Jon speaks softly, but sternly. “Go sleep by the fire.”

 

 _Baa_ , is Dorren’s defiant answer.

 

Jon stares at the lamb, pointing to the rug in front of the fire. He wishes Ghost was here. Dorren might be more inclined to join the Direwolf if he was there, but Ghost had gone out to hunt that morning and had yet to return. Jon knows he will come back when he’s ready to.

 

“Dorren, listen to father,” Sansa then lets out, mumbling, and Jon thinks she might be still asleep, her eyes closed and her body not even stirring beneath the furs.

 

 _Baa_ , Dorren lets out again, but this time, the lamb stands up and goes to the edge of the bed where he permits Jon to lift him up and then set him down onto the floor. Soon, they won’t be able to call him a lamb anymore. He’s growing bigger with each day and Jon wonders if Sansa will allow Dorren to go off and make his own little lambs or if he will become the very fattened Keep ram.

 

Dorren settles himself on the rug in front of the fire and Jon returns to the bed, finally having the room to slip between the furs beside his wife.

 

He doesn’t know why he liked so much what she had said, but he certainly had.

 

 _Listen to father_.

 

Ridiculous, really, since they are talking about a lamb, but he rather liked the way that that sounded. _Father_. He had had several men in his life close to something of a father figure. The inn-keeper, Ethan. Galbert Glover, who taught him nearly everything he knew. Ned Stark in the short time Jon had been honored with knowing him before his death in the war. Plenty of father figures, yes, but never an actual father.

 

Jon has always wanted to be able to be one. Did he ever see himself being something other than a soldier? No, so being a father, he knew, would not have been easy for him and he would not bring another bastard into this world. If he was to be a father to his child then he would be a husband to a woman as well.

 

He knows that as Lord of the Gift, he and Sansa, as his Lady wife, are expected to have children. Even if he and Sansa were completely against the idea of procreating, Jon knows that they wouldn’t, even then, reject their duties. But he isn’t against the idea of procreating and neither is Sansa, but that’s also not the only reason he likes sharing a bed with his wife; despite what Robb had said of getting Sansa with child as soon as he possibly could.

 

He likes to sleep with her at his side because in just a short amount of time, he has come to love it and become accustomed to having her body next to his. Feeling her warmth. Drifting off into his slumber with the sound of her steady breathing in his ear. The sound of her sometimes mumbling about a dream in her sleep.

 

The mornings where he wakes up either with his arm over her waist or her head on his chest have become his favorite mornings and when he wakes up in a position like that, Jon knows it will be a good day.

 

And he will assume that Sansa likes to share a bed with him as well since they don’t even discuss it most nights anymore that they will either be sharing his bed or hers and many of those nights, it’s not even about joining together. Many of those nights, it’s simply about sleeping beside one another.

 

With a tired sigh, Jon gets himself settled comfortably, lying himself on his side, facing his wife. He looks to Sansa’s face, the flames of the fire dancing across her face and her beauty almost makes his chest ache. She is deep in her sleep, her eyelids fluttering as she dreams, and her breathing is deep and steady. Jon can’t stop himself from lifting a hand to brush a lone strand of hair back from her temple, his fingers dancing across her skin as lightly as a feather in the wind.

 

“Mmmmm, Jon,” Sansa murmurs in her sleep.

 

Jon moves himself closer and, in her sleep, as if she can sense him do so, one of her hands lift just enough to come to a rest on his bare chest, over one of his scars.

 

“I love you, Jon,” she then whispers.

 

The words escape past her lips as a gentle sigh and Jon feels everything inside of him go absolutely still, including the breath in his lungs. He stares to her face, but Sansa remains asleep and he wonders if he, himself, has also already fallen asleep and has dreamt her saying those words to him.

 

He could believe it was a dream. It isn’t the first time he has imagined those words in his wife’s voice. He wants very much for her feelings to match his own. He has lost count of how many times he has nearly told her those words, himself – whether it be when they are sharing a meal together in their solar, going over papers for the Gift or walking their hedge maze or overseeing the cranberry bogs. The words are always right there, on his tongue, and yet, Jon is not able to give them voice.

 

He has seen battle and yet, he knows he has never been more scared than he is when he imagines telling his wife that he loves her. He always stops himself because he isn’t sure if it is too soon for him to be in love with her; to love her; to tell her both of those things. They have only been wed for a few months now. There is still so much they need to know about one another and yet, with each new thing Jon learns about Sansa, he finds his feelings for her only growing deeper and stronger.

 

His wife sometimes talks in her sleep. He learned that very early on. She is asleep right now. He knows that, too. But, she had said that she loved him and Jon, after a moment of consideration, knows that he’s awake.

 

Jon moves his body closer to hers, as close as he can manage without waking her. He rests his forehead to hers and he stares to her sleeping face.

 

“I love you, too,” he whispers back.

 

…

 

The noise isn’t loud, but it’s noise enough to begin to creep into Sansa’s mind and pull her from sleep.

 

Her eyes flutter open to find the bedchamber bathed in the grey light of early dawn. She looks to the space next to her and sees that Jon is already awake and gone. She tries not to feel disappointment at that. She very much likes when she wakes up and he’s still in bed with her. On those mornings, she will lay there and watch him as he continues to sleep. Her husband is always a handsome man, but when he is sleeping, the worried and thoughtful lines disappear from his face and he looks so… young.

 

But, no matter. There will be other mornings to wake up before him. Sam had told her that for the next few weeks, she was going to feel far more tired than she is used to and she mustn’t fight it. When her body tells her that it wants to rest, that is what she should do. Has it started already? Is that why Jon is already up and gone from their bed and Sansa is still sleeping?

 

She lifts her head from the pillow as the noise continues and it becomes more distinct once the last lingering trace of slumber fades from her brain. She sits up. People coming in and out of Jon’s chamber, all carrying steaming buckets of water, and she sees the bathing tub has been placed in front of the fire hearth. Jeyne is kneeling beside it and Sansa can smell the faintest aromas of the oils she is adding to the water.

 

And she then sees Jon overseeing it all.

 

“What’s all this?” Sansa asks and Jon’s eyes immediately go to her, smiling when he sees her awake.

 

And the smile on his face makes one form across her own.

 

He slips in between two servants leaving the room with empty buckets and comes to the bed, coming to her side and sitting down on the edge.

 

“I was surprising you with a hot bath this morning,” Jon explains to her though that’s the part that is somewhat self-explanatory. “Would you like that?”

 

“That sounds wonderful,” Sansa tells him honestly and Jon smiles; looking relieved. “Thank you,” she then says to him, lifting a hand to touch his cheek.

 

She knows it’s not necessarily proper to be so openly affectionate with one another while servants can be witness, but between taking the time to draw a hot bath for her as soon as she wakes and looking so happy and relieved, Sansa can’t help herself.

 

And Jon certainly doesn’t mind as his eyes stare into hers as his hand lifts to cover hers.

 

“After what you told me last night, I wanted to do something for you this morning,” Jon tells her.

 

His words make her brow furrow, not understanding. “What I told you last night?” She repeats.

 

She doesn’t remember telling him anything. He and Davos had been working in the solar, reading through reports from the onion fields and Sansa admits that the onion crop does not interest her as much as she knows it should. She had told Jon that she was going to bed and he had smiled, promising her that he would not be long behind her. Jeyne had helped her ready for bed and Sansa had then lifted Dorren onto the bed to sleep with her until Jon did join her. She had fallen asleep before Jon came in.

 

When could she possibly have said anything to him?

 

A second’s thought later, she gasps. She _knew_ talking in her sleep would someday come to cause her a great inconvenience. Apparently, she had told Jon last night that she is with child and she doesn’t even remember it. But… seeing his happiness this morning… his happiness. He’s happy. She knows that he wanted to get her with child, but she honestly expected him to look relieved; as if a great burden has been lifted from his shoulders. He only seems relieved that she’s happy about the bath. Other than that, he looks…

 

Honestly and truly happy.

 

“I’m glad that you’re pleased,” Sansa says, her own smile still on her lips.

 

Jon gently pulls her hand from his cheek and he kisses her palm. “How could I not be? Those words you said to me last night,” he pauses to exhale a deep breath and he holds her hand tightly. “They were the greatest words someone has said to me.”

 

 “And I wish I wasn’t asleep while saying them,” Sansa admits and Jon chuckles.

 

He leans in and presses his lips to hers in a quick kiss, mindful of the servants still coming in and out of the chamber. “As long as you meant the words. I would like to say them to you now that you’re awake. You saying them to me, it gave me the courage I admit that I was lacking.”

 

Sansa’s brow returns to furrowing. “You would like to say what to me, Jon?” She asks.

 

What had he said when she told him she was with child? Had he said anything? Or, since she was asleep, he was waiting for her eyes to be open and looking into his for him to say his response? What did men generally say to their wives when they found out they were going to be having a baby’s arrival in a few months?

 

Jon takes a deep breath. “I promise. I will get more comfortable saying them. I just need more practice, but knowing your feelings are the same, I fully intend to be practicing all of the time now.”

 

“My feelings?”

 

Jon’s smile begins to fade. “Yes, your… do you know what you said to me last night? Do you remember?”

 

“Not exactly,” Sansa admits and his smile has slowly slipped away. She finds herself desperate to have it returned again. She holds onto his hand before he can think to pull it away. “I wish I could remember every moment of it though. I only had one chance to tell my husband for the first time that we’re going to have a baby and I slept right through it.” She smiles, hoping that it will make him smile as well.

 

Jon doesn’t smile though. Instead, he’s staring at her as if perhaps, he’s never laid eyes upon her before and he’s wondering where she came from.

 

“Jon…”

 

“You’re with child?” He asks in a hush, his eyes slowly moving from hers to look to her still-flat middle.

 

“I went to see Sam yesterday and he confirmed it. I am definitely with child. We’re going to have a baby, Jon,” she says and as the words continue falling from her mind, Sansa finds her smiling growing. Saying it out loud – and awake – to her husband, she feels a lightness and warmness in her chest at the news; the news she has wanted ever since she was a girl old enough to understand what it meant to have babies and old enough to know she wanted it for herself.

“You’re with child,” Jon says again and this time, it is not asked; but stated. He is looking so amazed, it makes Sansa want to laugh.

 

But then she realizes something. If she told him last night, this was something he would already know.

 

“I _did_ tell you last night, in my sleep, didn’t I?” Sansa asks him.

 

Jon lifts his eyes from her middle back to her face and his other hand, not holding hers, goes to her cheek again. “You said something just as amazing, in my opinion.”

 

“What was that?” She asks as her mind is already racing with possibilities. If she didn’t tell him about the baby last night though, what else could she have said that would make him so happy this morning?

 

Jon doesn’t answer her – not right away. He leans in and his lips meet hers, so softly and gently. “I love you, too, Sansa,” he whispers, his lips hardly lifting from hers to say the words.

 

Sansa feels her heart – and everything else – still. Too? He loves her, too? That must mean that _that’s_ what she told him in her sleep the night before. She told him she loves him. And her husband loves her, too. Her husband loves her, too, and they’re going to have a baby. Before she can stop it from happening, her eyes flood with tears and she then lets out a breathless laugh, her hand lifting to cover it, hardly able to believe it. And Jon smiles at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. 

 

Jon loves her.

 

She really needs to write a letter to thank Robb. She keeps meaning to, to thank him for this marriage he worked at arranging, and now, her heart full of love for Jon and his love for her, Sansa really needs to stop forgetting and sit down this morning and write to her brother; as soon as she’s finished with her hot bath.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much! I don't want this story to "drag" with fluff and nothing much happening, but it really is a story of Jon and Sansa getting used to both their marriage and one another. Something will be happening in the next few chapters though. Thank you, again, for reading!


	22. Correspondence

…

 

**Twenty-Two. Correspondence.**

 

My King,

 

I hope this letter finds you well.

 

Davos and I have received reports from the onion fields. Harvesting will begin within the next week and exporting can begin within the next month. The farmers have told me that they have not seen an onion production like this since before the war. We have also begun to flood the bogs and the harvest of cranberries will be ready soon as well. I will not be surprised if, even when the asparagus fields are ready again for planting, the Gift will have more than one man wishing to remain with their new cranberry plants and bogs. It would seem that you were very right in sending your sister up here to be my wife. I don’t know what I would do without her. As soon as we implement one idea of hers, she has another ready to go.

 

I would truly be lost without her.

 

We have received good news and Sansa thought I should tell be the one to tell you while she tells your mother. Sansa is with child. Our Maester, Sam, has confirmed it and so far, your sister is the picture of health. She is being placed at around two months along now and myself and her couldn’t be happier. I am sure when you hear the news, you will be happy as well.

 

I know that you were hoping for a child quickly to both solidify my marriage to your sister as well as my title of Lord over the Gift, but in all honesty, I’m happier to just be having a baby with my wife. I have come to love her very deeply. I do not know how you knew, but somehow, you did know that Sansa and myself would be a good match for one another. I can’t thank you enough for somehow knowing.

 

The Keep in Queenscrown is almost complete with its renovations and I have had several people tell me that they haven’t seen the Keep look as it does now in years. Sansa has put her attentions on the gardens and our hedge maze and she can’t wait to show them off to you and your Queen once you visit us again.

 

We are also working on our House sigil and words. It is a project Sansa and I are not taking lightly. We have had a few ideas, but we have not made a final decision yet. As soon as we do, I will send you another letter.

 

I do think that with Sansa’s pregnancy, I regret to tell you that I think she should not travel to Winterfell for your upcoming wedding. It would be a long journey and I do not want anything to happen to her or the baby. I know that she should come to see her King and brother marry, and she would love to come, but I think it would be best to come and see you after the baby is here and both are safe and sound. At this moment, I am still planning on coming to Winterfell for the celebration, but that might change as well.

 

Your Loyal Servant,

 

Lord Jon Snow of House Snow of the Gift

 

…

 

Dear **JON** ,

 

See how I used your name as we are friends and brothers?

 

And not to further criticize your letter to me, but why did you think I would want to read about onions and cranberry bogs _before_ the news of you and my sister expecting my first nephew or niece? Of course, I am happy to hear that things in the Gift are setting right again, but knowing that a baby is coming is far more important to anything else you did or could have told me.

 

I am so truly happy – not only because I think an heir for House Snow will only further solidify our holdings in the Gift, that is true – but because I love both you and my sister so much and a baby is always cause for happiness and celebration. I am also in complete agreement. Under no circumstances should Sansa make the journey from the Gift to Winterfell in her condition. And you shouldn’t leave her side. Once Wynafryd and I are married, we will come and see you, my sister and my new niece or nephew.

 

When the North had won our independence and we broke away from the lower Six Kingdoms, there were so many things to do and so many things I had to see to. It was as if someone had thrown a deck of cards into the air and it was my responsibility to make sure that they were all facing upwards before they landed. I didn’t know that you and Sansa would be a good match. I had hoped. No matter how much she tries to say the war had changed her – and it changed us all – I know that Sansa was very much still in love with love. I wanted to give my sister happiness, but we both knew she also had particular duties as my sister and a Stark.

 

I had hoped you would like one another. I knew you would work well together and knew that if anyone could create a completely new House while seeing to all the issues that plagued the Gift after the war, it would be the two of you. You’re both smart, brave and good people. I had hoped for mere affection or at least simple tolerance, but knowing that you love her, I couldn’t be happier. You both deserve love and happiness and in case there was any doubt, I will always be sure to pat myself on the back while in your presence for a match well made.

 

I can only hope that once we are married, Wynafryd and myself will be as lucky. She is a beautiful, kind woman and I do like her. I just don’t know if I will be ever to truly love her. She will be a good Queen to be at my side and a good mother to our children. There isn’t much more I can ask for in a wife than that.

 

Be sure to keep me posted on not only the onion and cranberry harvests, but how Sansa is coming along in her pregnancy.

 

Always your friend,

 

Robb

 

PS – stop being so damn formal with me all of the time. I have enough ass kissers around me. I don’t need another – especially one that’s you.

 

…

 

Dear Mother,

 

I am sure Robb has already given you the news and I’m sorry for not telling you first. I wanted to. Believe me. If I had thought you could have heard me from all of this distance between us, I would have climbed up to the tallest battlement and screamed out the news to you that Jon and I are having a baby and you will be a grandmother.

 

But I know that even though he is my brother, he is also King and he had to be told the news first.

 

I am so, so excited. And nervous and scared, of course, but my excitement and happiness overrule anything else. If you have any advice for these early months, I would gratefully appreciate it. I have Kitty, our Head Maid, and she has had quite a few children herself and she has told me some things of what to expect and I am so thankful to her for the knowledge, but I feel like I need my mother more than anyone right now.

 

Our Maester, Sam, has warned me of feeling tired all of the time and that has certainly come true. It seems that as soon as I rise from bed in the mornings, I’m ready to lay right back down. I have started to take afternoon naps once I see to my other duties first, but even then, I never feel quite fully rested. Jon has told me that if I am to eat breakfast in bed and conduct all of my business that must have my attentions, I shall do that from bed as well, but I can’t bring myself to take him up on that.

 

Somehow, it doesn’t seem right to me that the Lady of the Gift shall keep herself in bed all day and night while everyone else around her works so hard.

 

Jon has been so wonderful ever since I told him the news. I didn’t know that a husband could be so caring towards their wife. I saw you and father and the way he always treated you as his very equal and nothing ever less than that, but to experience such a thing for myself, I sometimes feel like I’m in a dream and I don’t quite understand how I have landed here. I have a husband who truly loves me and not just because I’m the King’s sister or I was born a Stark. I was mistaken and thought that that was the only reason he wanted to get me with child, but now, seeing how he fusses over me, and to hear him tell me that he loves me, I know that I could have been the youngest daughter of the poorest farmer and he would still love me.

 

And I love him so much, too, mother. I love him so much, I feel physical pain if I dwell on it. I hope that is normal. I knew love could cause a pain in the stomach or the heart, but I didn’t know that even after months of marriage, I could still feel such things when I’m simply in his company.

 

I have been losing my stomach every morning and no matter how much I love Jon or how much he loves me, I hide that from him and thankfully, I am able to wait until he leaves our chamber before bending over into the chamberpot. Kitty and Sam have both told me this is all normal, but I still can just imagine Jon’s reaction if he knows that I’m getting sick every morning. I can’t imagine his over-reactive panicking being much help.

 

Robb and Jon have both already said that I can’t make the journey to Winterfell for Robb’s wedding and I had been looking forward to coming home and seeing you, Bran and Rickon again, but I begrudgingly understand. I miss you all and I hope that sometime next year, when the baby is here – safe and sound – we can come to visit. I would love to show him or her Winterfell. Robb has said that he and Wynafryd will make a journey to the Gift to visit us after the birth and I hope you come and bring my brothers along as well.

 

Love, Sansa

 

PS – Jeyne is keeping a secret from me. I think she might be in love with a Wilding man, but I don’t know how to approach the topic with her without her clamming up and telling me absolutely nothing. What should I do if she is? I want her to be happy, but I can’t help, but think that Wildings are just too different from us.

 

…

 

My Dearest Sansa,

 

As soon as Robb told me, I burst into the happiest of tears and though while I understand why Robb had to be notified first, King or no King, I did slap him upside the head for not telling me as soon as he read the news in Jon’s letter. He had the nerve to read the entire letter first and _then_ pen Jon a reply before telling me.

 

I am so happy for you and even then, that word doesn’t even fully encompass how much joy I feel – for you and Jon and the baby to come. For all of us. I know that if your father and Arya were still with us, they would be feeling much the same. Even Bran and Rickon burst into wide grins when Robb and I told them the news. As for visiting Winterfell, I know it is the best course of action. It is not an easy journey and nothing is more important than you and the baby remaining safe. We will all visit as soon as we can. Maybe I will even be able to visit and be there for you during the birth.

 

I have one piece of advice for you straight away.

 

Don’t keep things from your husband. You are lucky. You have a husband who loves you. Not all women are so lucky and once the man plants their seed, they have little next to nothing to do with their wives after that. Tell Jon of your morning sickness and make sure he understands that it’s perfectly normal. If he overreacts – and I’m sure he will – I will write him a letter myself to tell him to not make such a fuss over a little thing. When I was pregnant with Robb, your father and I were still getting used to one another and I didn’t tell him so many things of what I was experiencing. It was only during your pregnancy with you that we truly loved one another and he experienced those things with me. He asked if it was the same with Robb and I told him that it was. Your father was actually angry at me for a day or two for keeping it from him.

 

If Jon wants to be involved, let him be. After all – and you most certainly should remind him of this often, especially when you reach your later months and will be horribly grouchy and uncomfortable – he is the one to put your through all of this. I know Jon well enough though to know that he will never complain if you should wake him up in the middle of the night because you are craving a particular food or drink.

 

And I remember Maester Sam from my time in your home. He seems a sweet man, but a bit, perhaps, bumbling. Ask him any question you have and then ask myself and Kitty the same thing – just in case our answers differ and I have a feeling that with certain things, they very well might.

 

As for Jeyne, I’m afraid that I have no advice to give you. She is your dearest friend and if she is, in fact, developing feelings for a Wilding man, I suppose the only thing you can do is gently ask her about it and depending on her answer, be supportive. She has been through so much with the loss of her family and we all deserve a bit of happiness in this life – no matter if anyone understands that reason for happiness or not.

 

Write me over anything, my dear. Ask me anything and I shall answer anything. I wish I was closer to you to help you through this, but from the sounds of it, not only do you have a husband who loves you, but people around you who feel the same. If their Lady needs to spend all day in bed, I have a feeling everyone will be doing everything to see to your comfort. After all, you are carrying the next little Lord or Lady of their home.

 

With so much love,

 

Your mother

 

PS – even after all of our years together, your father could still make my stomach flutter so having pains around your husband is actually a good thing. I would worry if those pains ever stop. 

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written a chapter quite like this, but I really love how it turned out. I hope you enjoyed it, too! Thank you so much for reading and commenting and thank you for the awesome response to the last chapter!


	23. Running Emotions

…

 

 **Twenty-Three. Running Emotions**.

“And you’re certain this is normal?” Jon can’t help, but ask as he kneels beside his wife as she is folded over the chamberpot, her hands clutching either side of it.

 

“For the sixth time, yes!” Sansa snaps at him. A moment later, she then groans and lifts her head to look at him. “I’m sorry,” she says and now looks as if she’s on the verge of tears.

 

Jon is thankful that Sam has already warned him about Sansa’s fast-changing emotions. Sam had told him that one moment, she will wish to murder him, but the very next moment, she will be bursting into tears.

 

“Shhhh,” Jon gently shushes her with a shake of his head. He gently brushes hair back from her face. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m annoying you, but I just want to make sure that everything is well.”

 

“I know,” Sansa nods. “And I’m so glad you’re here, annoying me.”

 

Jon smiles at that and leans in, kissing his wife on her temple. “I want you to spend the day in bed,” he then tells her and he’s not surprised in the least when Sansa immediately shakes her head in refusal.

 

“There’s too much that must be seen to,” she tells him. “The Lady just can’t lay about in bed all day.”

 

“Why not?” Jon wonders. “Everything you _have_ to see to today, those people can come and see you. You don’t have to go and see them. Everyone understands. You’re carrying our child and nothing is more important than that,” he says and as he does, he slips a hand over her abdomen.

 

To everyone, it looks as if Sansa’s pregnancy is not showing yet, but beneath Jon’s hand, he can feel the smallest, firmest bump. He knows his wife’s body quite well at this point, but even if he couldn’t feel the bump, he would still know that she was carrying their child. Sansa Snow is always beautiful, but now, Jon swears that she is shining – even clutching the chamberpot as she empties her stomach into it.

 

Jon rubs her back and makes sure the hair stays from her face. “Do you think that’s all?” He asks after a moment has passed without another wave of sickness hitting.

 

Sansa pauses and then nods. “I think that’s it for this morning.”

 

“My Lord.”

 

Jon turns his head to see Jeyne standing there, waiting and ready. He notes that her eyes look red, as if perhaps she has just finished crying over something, but Jon thinks he might just be seeing things.

 

“Thank you, Jeyne,” he smiles at his wife’s maid and closest friend as he takes the cup of water she is holding out for him. “Sip, love,” he then tells Sansa gently, holding the cup for her, and he sees the way Sansa smiles at Jon calling her such and she takes a small sip.

 

Jon smiles a little, too. He knows that Sansa loves to hear of his love for her and Jon very much likes telling her about it. He thought it would take some getting used to – speaking of such feelings for his wife – but it hadn’t been like that at all. It was as if ever since he and Sansa told one another that they loved the other, it feels as if Jon has never said easier words.

 

“I will take the chamberpot, My Lord,” Jeyne says and Sansa shakes her head, holding onto it tighter.

 

“Let me keep it for a little bit longer, Jeyne. Just in case.” Sansa turns her head now to look at her friend and as soon as she does, her brow crinkles. “What is it? What’s happened?” She immediately asks.

 

Jon thinks that maybe he wasn’t imagining Jeyne’s red eyes, after all.

 

“Nothing, My Lady,” Jeyne shakes her head. “I think I’m just reacting to the dust.”

 

Jon knows Kitty and the maids of the Keep are diligent in dusting the rooms nearly every single day, but he’s not going to speak about that.

 

“Jeyne, will you help me get Sansa back to bed and then I’ll go and get some breakfast for her,” Jon says.

 

And leave you two to talk over girl-matters in private, he adds silently to himself.

 

“I really shouldn’t be spending the day in bed, Jon,” Sansa continues to protest even as Jon and Jeyne help her get settled once more, making sure the pillows are plump and the blankets and furs cover her. “There are things that I must do-”

 

Jon swiftly cuts her off with a kiss. When he pulls back, she’s frowning.

 

“I’ve just thrown up,” she reminds him. Jon just smiles and kisses her again.

 

“Either let myself, Jeyne or Davos know who you need to speak with today. They will come here to see you. Now, do you have a taste for anything for breakfast?” He asks.

 

It still looks like Sansa is going to protest, but then, seems to decide against it and just sighs instead. “Bread.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

Sansa nods. “It’s best to give my stomach a chance to settle itself.”

 

Jon nods. That makes perfect sense. “I’ll go get you bread and more water. Do you need anything else?”

 

“Dorren?” Sansa then asks with a small smile as if Jon would ever think to refuse her anything.

 

Jon smiles and lean in, giving her a kiss on the head. “I’ll go to the stables to get him from Harmund, myself.”

 

Sansa watches him leave the room and as soon as the door closes behind him, Sansa’s eyes rear to Jeyne. She is at the window, looking out below as she dumps out the contents from the chamberpot, making sure that she’s not dumping it out on anyone.

 

“Jeyne, please tell me,” Sansa is not above pleading.

 

Jeyne shakes her head and then turns back to the bed, coming to set the chamberpot on the floor on Sansa’s side so she can easily make a grab for it if it is needed again.

 

“Jeyne,” Sansa says and reaches a hand out, taking hold of one of Jeyne’s. “We have been friends since we were little girls. We tell each other everything. Please tell me this.” When Jeyne begins to shake her head again, Sansa squeezes her hand. “Is it Lenyl?” She asks.

 

Jeyne looks at her with slightly wide eyes.

 

Sansa moves over in the bed, a silent invitation, and after a moment’s hesitation, Jeyne takes it, settling herself down beside Sansa. Sansa gives her a small smile and keeps holding Jeyne’s hand.

 

“Do you love him?” Sansa asks in a quiet voice.

 

“No,” Jeyne’s answer is immediate – so immediate that it makes Sansa think it’s not the truth. Jeyne then sighs softly and looks to her friend. “I can’t be in love with him. We don’t even know one another and even if we _did_ know one another… he’s a wilding and I’m not.”

 

Sansa is quiet for a moment and though it hurts her chest to ask, she knows she has to. “Would you want that? Would you want to be a wilding?”

 

“Of course not, Sansa,” Jeyne says and again, it is said so quick and instant, Sansa doesn’t know if Jeyne is telling her the truth or not. “My place is here, with you, South of the Wall,” Jeyne then adds.

 

Her mother had warned her that for the first months, Sansa would experience her emotions being everywhere. One minute, she would feel furious and the next, she would cry enough to feel a bucket, but even if with that being true, Sansa knows that she would still feel a heavy weight pressing on her chest now whether there is a baby growing inside of her or not.

 

Jeyne has always been her closest friend. Sansa and Jeyne have always shared their lives, sewing, giggling and stealing lemon cakes from the kitchens together. And when Robb told Sansa of her arranged marriage to Lord Snow of the Gift, it had been no question as to whether Jeyne would be coming with her.

 

Sansa honestly can’t imagine her life without Jeyne being in it. What would she do without her? Jeyne is her closest friend and confidant. But, it’s for those reasons that Sansa knows she can’t keep Jeyne by her side for the rest of their lives; especially if Jeyne no longer wants to be there. And Sansa can’t be angry about that. The two have always had the same dreams – getting married and having a family. No matter how much she might protest it, Sansa knows that those dreams are still Jeyne’s.

 

Would Jeyne really leave? If Lenyl asked, would Jeyne leave Queenscrown to go North of the Wall to live with him and the other wildings? Sansa, herself, can’t imagine doing such a thing just because such a life is so far removed from anything they’ve ever been taught.

 

And yet…

 

And yet, if Jon was a wilding and Sansa loved him as much as she loves him, Sansa knows it wouldn’t be much of a decision to make. Where Jon was, that is where Sansa would want to be, too.

 

Sansa squeezes her friend’s hand again. “Will you stay until I give birth?” She asks her quietly.

 

“I’m not going anywhere, Sansa,” is Jeyne’s answer.

 

It is given neither quick nor instant this time, but Sansa finds herself still not quite believing it.

 

…

 

After checking on Sansa once more after the noon meal – seeing that her tray was empty and he was happy to see that her appetite had returned – he left her, with Dorren on the bed as well, to discuss whatever she had to discuss with Duncan, their gardener, to go down to the training yards for Del’s daily sparring practice.

 

The boy is getting better. He still has yet to get the best of Jon while charging him, but he no longer holds his sword over his head like an idiot and he is getting better at his spins in response to oncoming attacks. Jon knows the boy is not stupid and he knows he can quicken the pace in which he is teaching Del, but Jon simply doesn’t want to.

 

Galbert Glover had taught Jon at a slow pace as well; not because he thought Jon Snow was nothing more than some stupid stable boy, but because he _wasn’t_. Galbert wanted to teach Jon everything he possibly could because he knew that Jon would soak it in like a sponge and remember it and use the knowledge properly. And Galbert Glover turned out to be right as Jon grew and became one of the leading Generals in King Robb Stark’s army and was instrumental in helping the North win their independence.

 

Jon is going to do the same with his own page. He is not going to rush Del’s training. He very well might be training a General right now.

 

“Good,” Jon nods as Del brings his sword against the wooden dummy’s neck. “Again.”

 

Del sighs heavily and Jon knows that the boy wants to argue, but he doesn’t. He takes his attack stance again and as he begins bringing his sword against the wooden dummy, Jon walks a slow circle around him, studying his stance from every angle. He sees Lenyl enter the training yard and he nods towards the man and Lenyl begins heading his way, also glancing to Del.

 

“He’s weak on his back foot,” Lenyl tells Jon once he’s close enough.

 

“I see,” Jon nods.

 

“Want me to…” Lenyl trails off and keeping his eyes on Del, Jon nods his head.

 

Del is too focused on the wooden dummy and doesn’t note Lenyl standing behind him; not until Lenyl kicks Del’s back foot and Del nearly falls right into the dummy. Del spins around to look at them both, furious.

 

“Watch your back foot,” Jon tells him. “You’re standing on the ball of it and you’re just asking for Lenyl or someone else to come kick it out from under you. Distribute your weight.”

 

Del still is angry, but he listens to what Jon tells him and when he shifts his weight evenly onto both feet, Jon gives him an approving nod.

 

“Continue,” Jon says and Del begins his sparring against the wooden dummy again. “Is everything alright?” Jon then asks Lenyl.

 

“How is Sansa?” Lenyl asks first.

 

Jon can’t help, but smile just at the mere mention of his wife. “So far, so good. Sam says that she’s healthy and the babe seems to be as well. Hopefully, it will stay the same.” He glances to Lenyl again before back to Del. “Is everything alright?” He asks again.

 

“I’m going to be leaving,” Lenyl says without any type of preamble. He’s not the sort for that.

 

Jon can’t help, but whip his eyes to him. “Leaving?” He says the word in case he has heard Lenyl wrong.

 

He never thought Lenyl would stay forever. Most wildings aren’t the sort to stay in one spot. There are some who do that, who have little wilding villages with their little wilding homes, but many simply move from spot to spot when they’re ready to do so. Lenyl is the sort to move about so Jon knows that Lenyl wanting to leave Queenscrown and the Gift isn’t that hard to believe; it’s just that Lenyl has been here for some time now already. Jon just hadn’t thought that Lenyl would be leaving anytime soon.

 

Jon recalls Jeyne’s red eyes that morning.

 

“Are you taking Jeyne with you?” Jon asks while silently hoping that he’s not. Sansa is with child and perhaps the loss of her dearest friend will put some sort of duress or stress onto Sansa that now isn’t the time for her to be feeling either of those.

 

It’s selfish, he knows. If Jeyne and Lenyl want to leave, Jon can’t stop them, but for Sansa and their baby’s sake, he hopes that Jeyne has no intention of leaving as well.

 

Lenyl, however, looks at Jon as if perhaps the man has grown a second head. “Why would I take her?”

 

Jon now frowns. “I thought… do you not like her?”

 

He knows Lenyl. When anything serious is being discussed, Lenyl tends to make it unserious as quickly as he can, saying whatever he has to in order to change the tone or very topic. Lenyl opens his mouth and Jon fully expects the most sarcastic comment the man can make.

 

But then, it is as if Lenyl changes his mind at the very last moment of doing just that.

 

He closes his mouth and then shrugs. He is watching Del and not looking at Jon and Jon feels that perhaps he’s doing that on purpose so Jon can’t look into his eyes when he speaks.

 

“You Kneelers, you like to get married, and you know us Wildings. We don’t.” Lenyl shrugs at that and then turns to walk away. He stops and keeps his back to Jon. “I’ll be leaving in the morning.”

 

With that, he walks from the training yard and Jon watches him go. Jeyne’s red eyes make very much sense to him now. He wonders if Lenyl had seen Jeyne’s red eyes and if he had… perhaps Lenyl doesn’t like Jeyne as much as Jon had thought because if Jon ever sees Sansa cry and know that he is the cause for the tears, Jon can’t imagine anything he wouldn’t do to fix that and ensure that Sansa never cry over him again.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there were some who didn't care about the Lenyl/Jenye story I have going on, but it will, eventually, have something to do with Sansa/Jon. Thank you very much for reading and loving this story as much as I love writing it!


	24. Intimacy

…

 

**Twenty-Four. Intimacy.**

The first time Sansa had been in this position, she had felt as if she was burning with embarrassment over having actually no idea what to do. And even after Jon showed her, she had still felt too embarrassed to allow herself to feel enjoyment. She had felt too awkward and though Jon had told her that in this position, she was the one in complete control, that had been the very last thing Sansa had felt.

 

But since then, she has changed her mind. She has _certainly_ changed her mind. She wonders if that’s because of the baby. In one of the letters she and her mother have exchanged since news of her pregnancy was made known, Catelyn told Sansa that her body is going to be going through so many changes and one of those changes Sansa might experience sooner or later – depending on how the pregnancy affects her – is an intense wanting for her husband.

 

_And if Jon doesn’t believe that the baby will be perfectly safe during couplings, have him speak to your Maester. And if Sam tells him otherwise, have Jon write me. I will gladly tell my good-son all about what you are experiencing. I’m sure he would love to hear about it from me._

Sure enough, when Sansa told Jon of what she was feeling, he had immediately worried and wondered if the baby would truly be protected and wouldn’t come to harm. She knew he would worry. And, to no surprise, Sam had flushed and sputtered when Sansa had dragged Jon to see him and had asked about it.

 

“Well, I… I don’t… I know there are chapters that have been written on it… Let me look…” And as he had hurried to do just that, Sansa had looked to Jon with a raised eyebrow.

 

“He’s looking,” Jon had said and Sansa had just crossed her arms over her chest, staying silent, keeping her raised eyebrow trained on him. “Once I read the chapters in Sam’s books-”

 

“Books on a woman’s pregnancy, written by _men_ ,” Sansa cut in. “My mother said you can write her.”

 

It was Jon’s turn to sputter at Sansa’s suggestion. “There is no way I’m going-”

 

“Well, it’s either write my mother or believe your wife. Which shall it be?” Sansa asked.

 

“Sansa,” Jon now groans her name, his hands filled with both of her bottom’s cheeks and Sansa thinks that Jon is as glad as she is that he had believed her rather than waiting on either Sam or Catelyn.

 

“Jon,” she exhales his name on a sigh as she continues riding him.

 

Riding him. That’s what Jon had told her it was when he had first showed her this position. “Ride me as you would ride a horse,” he had told her as Sansa felt her face explode in fire and he had helped her straddle him. “Pretend you’re in the saddle.”

 

Sansa had been so unsure that first time, but even with such great uncertainty, she had noticed that Jon had seemed to like the way her body had moved on top of his and he had finished inside of her with a great force. She figured perhaps it was a position not meant for her to enjoy and the next time they tried it, when Jon had rolled himself onto his back, and guided her to be on top of him, she had been expecting much the same; Jon experiencing all of the pleasure and Sansa feeling nothing except awkwardness.

 

She should have known better though. Jon has shown her such pleasure. She should have known that no matter the position they were in, Jon would continue to show her. And this second time, as she rocked her body against his with the help of his hands on her hips, guiding her, one of his hands then moved and when his thumb touched that little bud of hers that always made her cry out, Sansa suddenly realized that this position wasn’t bad after all. Not at all.

 

Jon sits in their bed – which used to be solely hers and is now both of theirs – his back against the headboard, and Sansa straddles his lap, rocking her body against his, figuring out which speed she wants this evening and learning that she wants it all tonight. Slow and a bit faster and she kisses Jon firm on the mouth, her tongue dipping into his mouth so she can taste her husband like he so often tastes her.

 

And Sansa swallows Jon’s moan down as he always does with hers.

 

“Sansa,” Jon groans out again and one of his hands remains on one of the cheeks of her bottom while the other hand lifts to the back of her head, his hand fisting in her hair.

 

She kisses him again and shifts herself a little onto her knees, her mouth breaking away as she lets out a sharp cry, it echoing against the chamber walls. This is another reason she has found to like this position very much. If she positions herself just so, she is able to rub her little bud against his cock as she slides up and down or rocks back and forth and it is absolutely wonderful. She wonders if every woman knows of this little bud and the pleasure it can give when touched. She knows not every woman is lucky enough to have such a husband as Jon is – a husband who truly cares about his wife enjoying coupling as much as he does – but Sansa hopes that no matter their husband, the woman knows of this little bud.

 

“Jon!” She cries out and then that now all-too familiar explosion bursts and then washes over her.

 

As her body trembles, she feels Jon rolling her onto her back and then he resumes thrusting inside of her. Sansa moans as she lifts her legs to wrap around his waist and with a hand behind his head, she pulls him down for a kiss; a kiss Jon is more than happy to sink his body on top of hers for.

 

She doesn’t know how many thrusts it is – she certainly doesn’t count – before Jon slams into her for a final time and she can feel his own trembles in his body. Jon usually collapses on top of her after he finishes and Sansa has come to love the feel of her husband’s heavy and sweaty body on top of hers, but this evening, Jon catches himself on his hands at the last moment.

 

“What is it?” She wonders quietly, looking up to his face, lifting her hands to hold his hair back from his face.

 

Jon shakes his head and then, slowly pulling himself out of her, he then collapses himself down at her side. “I don’t want to hurt you by laying on top of you,” he finally tells her, still in the midst of catching his breath.

 

Sansa pauses at that and then, she reaches a hand over to pinch him on the side.

 

Jon’s eyes fly open from when he’s had them closed, to collect himself, and he looks at her, surprised. “Did you just pinch me, My Lady?” He asks.

 

“I did, My Lord,” Sansa nods.

 

Jon keeps looking at her for another moment and then lets out something of a laugh – more out of shock than anything. “Why?”

 

“The baby is well protected, Jon,” Sansa tells him. “It’s fragile, yes, but feeling your body can’t hurt me.”

 

Jon is quiet at that, his eyes still on her, and she knows he’s obviously thinking that over. Then, still without saying anything, he rolls himself onto his side towards her and bending an elbow, propping himself up, his other hand than slowly slides across her middle. Sansa almost gasps. They have just coupled – made love – and he has just spent himself inside of her and yet, there is something about this that feels far more intimate to her and she’s not quite why. It’s just the way it feels.

 

Jon looks to his hand on her stomach and Sansa rests her own hand over his. His eyes lift to look at her and upon seeing the soft smile she is giving him, he smiles, too.

 

Pushing himself closer to her, he kisses her lightly. “I love you,” he whispers then.

 

As always, whenever he says those words – or even when she says them to him – Sansa feels a warmth blooming in the center of her chest, quickly to spread out to the rest of her.

 

“I love you, too,” she whispers back and he kisses her again.

 

“I wonder if one of these days, I will wake up and not have to tell myself that I’m not dreaming,” Jon confesses to her and Sansa doesn’t say anything; knowing that he doesn’t need her to. And she fears that if she _does_ say something, it will keep Jon from speaking more. She lifts her other hand to tuck a curl behind his ear. “Just a year ago, I was sleeping on the hard ground, eating scrambled eggs despite wanting to heave at just the sight of them, and fighting one battle after another. I never thought I would be able to ever wash the blood and dirt from my hands.”

 

Sansa is still quiet as she lifts Jon’s hand from her middle and brings it to her lips, giving a light kiss to each of his fingertips, listening to the way his exhale of breath shakes slightly.

 

He leans back in and kisses her lightly once again.

 

“And now I’m here,” Jon continues. “A Lord with my own land and Keep and people and I’m married to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, who loves me and who is having my child. I can’t…” he shakes his head and slowly, rolls himself back onto his back, looking up towards the ceiling.

 

This time, Sansa is the one to roll towards him. She lays more on her front as she rests her chin on his chest, feeling his arm sling lowly, loosely, across her back. She looks to his face.

 

“What?” She asks him quietly; gently.

 

He doesn’t speak of the war. Neither of them do. They have both shared as much as the other knows they want to and neither ever pry for more than that. The war had been hard for everyone, lasting too long with too many people dying. But they both survived and like everyone else in the North, they picked up their lives again and continued on.

 

“If your brother hadn’t made me Lord of the Gift, I wonder what I would have done,” Jon says. “I think… I think I might have gone North of the Wall and never come back.”

 

“To be with Ygritte?” Sansa can’t help, but wonder.

 

They do not speak of the wilding who had once had Jon’s heart. He told Sansa that he had loved her once, but it was nothing of the love he has towards his wife and Sansa believes him. She has no reason not to. He doesn’t speak of Ygritte and Sansa doesn’t ask. Again, like the war, that seems like a topic neither are ever too eager to discuss. When Jon had loved Ygritte, it had been such an uncertain time for everyone and he had wanted to touch something good – what he thought was good – before he surely died.

 

Sansa isn’t angry at her husband for having feelings towards another woman before he even knew of Sansa’s existence. There is no reason to be angry at him for having a life for long before she entered it. It would be ridiculous to be angry at him over something like that.

 

As long as he still doesn’t love Ygritte – and Jon has told her that he doesn’t and again, Sansa has no reason to not believe him.

 

“No,” Jon speaks now. “Just to go North and… _be_.” He shakes his head. “That doesn’t make sense-”

 

“It does,” Sansa assures him softly. “I can’t even imagine all that you went through in the war and how exhausted you must have been afterwards; how desperate you must have been to be alone and hear nothing around you. It wasn’t easy on me, but I can’t even compare. I wasn’t fighting day in and day out.”

 

“Not from what I’ve heard,” he says. “While Robb and your mother were away, you were the one who kept Winterfell, the very seat of the North, together. You do not give yourself enough credit.”

 

Sansa allows herself to pause and think that over, but what she doesn’t want to think about enters her mind before she can stop it. She then feels tears sting her eyes and she does her best to quickly blink them away while holding her changing body responsible. “I wasn’t able to stop my sister. It was my job to keep her at home with me and our younger brothers and I couldn’t manage it and she went off and died. Because of me.”

 

Sansa doesn’t speak of Arya. She made the vow to herself and so far, she has managed to uphold it. She doesn’t speak of her and she does her best to not even think of her. It just makes things easier this way. If she allows herself even a single memory of Arya to pop into her mind, Sansa won’t be able to stop the floodgates from opening with it and Sansa imagines herself sinking down and not able to rise again.

 

Jon gently brushes her hair completely back from her face. “I was with your brother and mother when they learned the news of your sister. They were devastated, but never once did they even _think_ of blaming you. I did not know her, but from what I’ve heard of her from Robb, she was as headstrong as they came. If Arya was determined to go and join the war, not even your brother or mother could have stopped her.”

 

Sansa can’t blink fast enough and a few tears manage to escape. They roll from her eyes, down her cheeks, and Jon puts both of his arms around her, gently tugging on her body until her face is even with his. He leaves his arms around her – tight and secure; comforting – and he kisses both of her cheeks.

 

“I was supposed to be comforting you,” Sansa says in a trembling voice and Jon gives her a smile at that.

 

“We comfort each other,” he tells her and then presses his lips to hers.

 

But just as Sansa thinks she’s getting quite prepared for a second go with her husband, Jon suddenly rips his lips away from hers and rears his head back.

 

“What is it?” Sansa asks, her eyes wide.

 

Jon is silent and still and a moment later, Sansa hears it, too. A bell. A great, heavy bell from somewhere outside, tolling back and forth.

 

“What is that?” Sansa has never heard that bell ring before.

 

“It’s the alarm bell,” Jon speaks hushed, still listening to the bell, his body tense beneath hers. It’s as if he can’t quite believe that it’s ringing and because of his reaction to it, Sansa feels herself tense as well. “It is only rung when there’s a wilding raid.”

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading!! And to those who read my _Beatles_ universe, I just wanted to let you know I have begun brainstorming/outlining a new story from Jon's POV when Sansa first comes back home. And to those reading this story, thank you for reading, commenting and loving it!


	25. A Broken Truce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorren has a POV section in this chapter and I don't think it's any surprise that writing from a sheep's POV is a little difficult.

…

 

**Twenty-Five. A Broken Truce.**

Jon’s heart is pounding as he leaps from the bed, the bell still ringing, and he begins getting dressed as quickly as he can. Sansa has gotten out of bed and is doing the same, tugging on one of her dresses. She’s not able to lace the back though and Jon can’t – won’t – take the time to do it so it stays open.

 

“I need you to stay in this room, bar the door and don’t open it again until you hear my voice on the other side,” Jon tells her, making sure that she takes it as an order because that’s exactly what it is.

 

Sansa quickly nods her head and Jon can see that she is visibly terrified. He strides to her and he holds her head between his hands.

 

“It will be alright,” he promises her even if he doesn’t know that to be the truth or not. He just knows that his wife needs to hear something reassuring at this moment and Jon is her husband. He is the one who must do that reassuring for her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

 

Sansa nods at that, but there is still such fear in her eyes. Jon gives her a kiss, knowing that it won’t help the situation at the moment, but maybe a kiss will help her not be scared – for even just a second.

 

“My Lord!” There is heavy pounding on the chamber door and Jon hears that it’s Davos.

 

Jon leaves Sansa to hurry and let the man in. He’s not alone. With him, there is Del and Jeyne. Jeyne immediately rushes to Sansa and the two women embrace tightly. Jon looks to Del and sees that the boy has his sword with him.

 

“I need you to stay in this room with My Lady and Jeyne. Don’t let anyone except me back inside. I need you to protect them,” Jon tells his page.

 

For a moment, Jon wonders where Del is going to put his loyalty. If this is a wilding attack and the bell hasn’t been rung by mistake, will Del go and help the wildings? Or has Del developed any loyalty to Jon and the people here that would trounce the loyalty to his people, who are clearly breaking a treaty with the North?

 

Jon has his answer within seconds.

 

“With my life,” Del swears to him.

 

“Good lad,” Jon gives him a smile before looking to Sansa and Jeyne, focusing on Sansa. “Remember. Do not open this door for anyone or anything.”

 

“I have to get the other women and children,” Sansa tells him, stepping forward. “They need to be in here, protected, too.”

 

Jon knows she’s right, but he shakes his head nonetheless. “They know where to go during a raid. They’ll be safe,” he promises her.

 

They better be, he then adds silently to himself.

 

These are his people and he is to keep them safe. If anything happens to any of his people, Jon will strike any wilding down – friend or not – he thinks is responsible.

 

Jon takes another second he knows he doesn’t have to spare to reach out and touch Sansa’s cheek with his fingers. He survived the war. There are those who believe he’s the greatest swordsman in all of the North – even better than Robb. Jon isn’t cocky enough to say that nothing is going to happen to him, but he also is going to allow himself to think that he just has too much to live for right now to allow anything to happen to him once he leaves this chamber.

 

“My Lord,” Davos says from the door and Jon’s hand falls away from Sansa’s face just as she’s reaching for it and with one more look, Jon turns and with Davos, he runs from them chamber, hearing the bolt slide into place behind him.

 

…

 

_Baa!_

Dorren bleats at the man who has come into the stables. This isn’t a man who should be here. He doesn’t smell like any of the other men or the boys who work in the stables, caring for him and the other sheep, pigs and horses. This man smells like he doesn’t belong here.

 

From outside, Dorren can hear shouting and running steps and the clang of metal against metal. There is a bell ringing, causing a great noise, and it smells like something is on fire, too.

 

 _Baa!_ Dorren knows that this man is definitely not supposed to be doing that as the man grabs one of the squealing piglets from their pen. Charging from his stall, Dorren runs right to the man, leaps up and rams him in his buttocks.

 

“What the-” the man spins around and glowers down to Dorren once he sees him. “Protecting your friend, are you?” The man gives a grin that doesn’t fool Dorren into thinking he’s nice. Dorren glares up at him, steeling himself for another ramming. “Maybe I’ll take you, too. You look like you’ll be delicious, spinning over a fire spit.”

 

 _Baa!_ Dorren bleats and he dives back for the man, ramming him again. He has just started to get his horns and he makes sure that this man feels them.  

 

“Ahhhh!” The man shouts and the piglet squeals as the man throws him back into the pen before grabbing Dorren, the sheep now the one to squirm as the man hefts him up. He has been gaining more and more weight with each passing day and he’s not as easy to pick up as a piglet. The man has to use both arms.

 

“I am going to cut those horns of you while you’re still alive and when I slit your neck and eat you, I’m going to wear your face as my new hat,” the man promises him.

 

 _Baa!_ Dorren tries to free himself from this man’s hold.

 

Both Dorren and the man look to the entrance of the stable when they hear a low growl.

 

 _Baa!_ Dorren bleats this time with happiness to see his friend.

 

Ghost is there, his red eyes glowing, his fur standing on edge and there is red on his snout. He stares at the man, growling, showing his teeth, and Dorren can feel the man stiffen.

 

“I’m not here for you, Ghost,” the man tells the direwolf, but Ghost doesn’t move.

 

The beast crouches lower, baring more of his teeth, as he prepares himself to pounce. Dorren begins to squirm as hard as he can. He doesn’t still want to be in this man’s arms when Ghost leaps onto him. The man isn’t paying any attention to him any longer though and with Dorren moving as much as he can, the man loses his grip and Dorren crashes to the floor with another _Baa_. He doesn’t care though, just happy to be free and once he has stood and shaken himself off, he wisely gets himself away.

 

The other animals in the stable are silent. None of the sheep baa or the pigs even move in their pens and the horses seem to be standing completely still, not even breathing or giving gentle stamps of their hooves. Ghost and the man stare at one another in a standoff, neither moving first.  

 

But then, the man’s hand moves towards the knife on his hip and that’s enough for Ghost.

 

Dorren takes another step back – just to be safe – when Ghost charges the man, the weight of the direwolf knocking the man onto the floor. The animals begin making noises again, stomping hooves and oinking and baaing as loud as they can as Ghost attacks and the man screams.

 

Dorren turns his head and keeps it turned away. He doesn’t need to watch Ghost rip the man’s throat out though the sheep is happy for it.

 

…

 

In their chamber, Sansa sits on the side of the bed and does her best to pray – to both the Old and New Gods – but she can’t stop crying and can hardly concentrate because of it. She doesn’t dare look out the window to look outside. She can hear more than enough for her mind to just imagine what is going on.

 

Why are the wildings raiding them? They – her brother and the North – and the wildings have a truce. Why would the wildings break it? Just for some of their animals and perhaps some of their onion and cranberry crop? They can’t think that that’s a good idea to break a binding truce. Not only will Robb be furious and retaliate, but they will make an enemy of Jon and what she has seen of her husband in the training yard, he is not a man to be crossed in any sort of fight. Sansa can only imagine how many ways her husband will kill them if they try to steal one of the women from the Gift away with them.

 

Jeyne had laced up her dress, but Sansa now wishes that she hadn’t. She’s already having a hard time breathing and in an attempt to both calm herself and to stop her tears, she rests a hand over her middle. The bump is small, but it is obvious now and she and Jeyne have already begun to alter some of her dresses. Hers and Jon’s baby is inside of her right now, growing – healthy, according to Sam – and right now, her baby might be small, but she knows that just feeling its bump beneath her hand, Sansa can gather herself.

 

But she’s so scared. She can’t help, but be scared. None of the battles had ever reached Winterfell – thankfully – but Sansa heard stories of the men when they came for food and a chance to recover. She had many in the Hall, her and other women tending to their wounds. She might not have seen an actual battle, but she more than saw enough of the aftermath.

 

She had naively thought – once the North had won their independence and Stannis Baratheon won his Iron Throne in the lower six kingdoms – there would be peace. At least for a little bit.

 

The Gift had been raided so many times by wildings, but Robb must have truly believed in the truce and both sets keeping their word or else, Sansa knows, there is no way that Robb would send his sister here to live. There is a reason the wildings are doing this. There _must_ be a reason. What that is, Sansa has absolutely no idea and she can only hope and pray that her husband and their people remain unhurt tonight.

 

Jeyne sits next to her and the two instantly take one another’s hand.

 

“All those years, we thought the war would last forever and when it ended, we had thought…” Jeyne is thinking out loud and she trails off.

 

Sansa squeezes her hand and doesn’t say anything.

 

“Jeyne?”

 

Jeyne and Sansa’s heads both whip to the barred door upon hearing Jeyne’s name from the other side.

 

“Jeyne, are you in there?”

 

Jeyne’s eyes widen and she begins shaking her head, looking to Sansa.

 

Sansa stands up, leaving Jeyne on the bed, and goes to the door.

 

“I’m not allowed to open this door, Lenyl,” Sansa speaks through the wood. “Unless you have Jon with you, I can’t open this to you. I have Del in here and he has sworn to protect myself and Jeyne until Jon comes.”

 

Del is standing there, holding onto his sword, puffing his chest out at his Lady’s words.

 

“You don’t have to open it. I won’t come in. Will Jeyne come out?” Lenyl asks.

 

Sansa looks back to her friend, who hasn’t moved from the bed, before looking back to the door. “Why should Jeyne go out there?” Sansa frowns. “Do you have a part to do with this raid? How could you do that to us? To Jon? To Jeyne? We’re your friends!”

 

“I had nothing to do with this raid, I swear it,” Lenyl is quick to say. “There was a group of them who were planning this. They’re… they’re angry at Jon.”

 

“Jon?” Sansa whispers her husband’s name, not understanding. “What has Jon done?”

 

“Many of us felt that your husband understood us even if he was a kneeler. And some of the wildings feel that Jon betrayed us so he could be a Lord,” Lenyl explains.

 

Sansa doesn’t know what to say that and she can only shake her head as if Lenyl can see her do it. For some reason, she can’t help, but think that Ygritte is one of those wildings who feel betrayed. Sansa won’t be surprised in the least if she finds out that Ygritte is out there this night, part of this raid.

 

“If you have nothing to do with the raid, why are you here?” Sansa is able to ask, her hand going to rest over her baby once again.

 

Lenyl is quiet and Sansa looks back to Jeyne again. She has slowly stood from the bed and is staring at the door, also awaiting Lenyl’s answer.

 

“I’ve come to steal Jeyne away and take her back with me,” Lenyl finally answers.

 

And though she can hear Jeyne gasp with surprise, Sansa finds that she’s not surprised by his answer at all.

 

…

 

Jon recognizes all of these men, but that doesn’t stop him from slicing his sword against them all. They have attacked his home, his people, his pregnant wife, _him_. They have broken a truce. If Jon doesn’t kill them now, Robb will have them killed anyway. There is chaos, people running and fighting all around him, someone has begun a fire at the stables and others – some of his men – frantically try to put it out before it causes any further harm while others are running inside to get all of the animals. He doesn’t have to look to know that Davos is fighting right at his side.

 

“Jon!”

 

Jon spins around at the noise and for some reason, for a split second, he thinks that it’s Sansa and his heart leaps in his throat at the idea of Sansa being out here instead of locked in their bed chamber. He’s about to shout at her for being out here, but when he turns, it’s not Sansa. It’s another redhead; one he had used to know so well, but has hoped to never see again.

 

He’s not surprised to see her here, in the middle of a wilding raid. She’s probably had her hand in planning this whole thing.

 

She is standing a bit of distance away, the courtyard between them, bodies of the dead littered on the ground, and Ygritte is holding her bow with an arrow pointed right to Jon’s chest.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading, commenting and loving this story!! I know the Lenyl/Jeyne storyline was a bit obvious; now we just have to see what Jeyne does and how Sansa reacts and of course, there's that whole Jon/Ygritte situation... Sansa isn't going to be staying in her bedchamber.


	26. The Lady of Queenscrown (Reprise)

…

 

**Twenty-Six. The Lady of Queenscrown (Reprise).**

As Jeyne comes to the door to speak with Lenyl through the wood, Sansa steps away from it, giving Jeyne’s arm a squeeze as she passes and goes to the other side of the chamber to give her some privacy.

 

She has no idea how Jeyne is going to react or what she is going to say. She knows what she _wants_ Jeyne to say, but this isn’t her decision. This is Jeyne’s life and if she wishes to leave… leave _her_ , Sansa knows that she will have to bite her tongue and give her dear friend an encouraging smile and a farewell hug.

 

And she will then proceed to cry for days.

 

She doesn’t want to. She tells herself not to, but she can’t stop herself. She looks out the window. She doesn’t know what to expect, but her eyes seem to hardly even register the stable on fire or the several dead bodies littering the ground. Her eyes immediately find her husband – even in the chaos – and when she sees Jon, Sansa gasps in a sharp breath.

 

Ygritte is here and it’s not that Sansa is surprised that Ygritte is here. She’s not surprised in the least. Sansa suspected almost immediately that the wilding was absolutely involved in this raid.

 

What makes Sansa gasp is that Ygritte is here, pointing an arrow right to her husband’s chest.

 

Her husband. The father of her baby. Her _love_.

 

Yes, Jon told her to leave this chamber for nothing and Sansa knows that he absolutely meant it, but she’d much rather deal with his fury for disobeying him than losing him and having to plan his burial.

 

Sansa spins away from the window and hurries back to the door, where Jeyne and Lenyl are still speaking through it. She doesn’t know if there are wildings in the Keep. She doesn’t know if Lenyl has come up with some elaborate trick to get one of them to eventually open the door. Sansa honestly isn’t thinking of any of that. She’s only thinking of her husband and getting to him as she quickly can. What she will do when she gets to him, she admits that she hasn’t thought that far ahead yet.

 

“My Lady!” Del shouts as Sansa swings the door open, starling Lenyl on the other side.

 

She doesn’t stop though. She lifts the hem of her dress and runs right past him.

 

“My Lady!” Del shouts again.

 

“Sansa!” Jeyne shouts now as well.

 

Sansa doesn’t stop. She’s not going to stop until she’s with Jon. She can hear them behind her – Del, Jeyne and Lenyl – running after her, yelling at her to come back, but Sansa only keeps going forward.

 

 _Jon. Jon. Jon._ Each of her footsteps is his name, over and over again.

 

She is vaguely aware of the chaos around her. There is fighting in the Great Hall from their soldiers against the wildings, but things seem to be slowing down. The attack is being squashed and Jon has been training the men of Queenscrown every day and he has trained them well. It seems that the wildings had been expecting the Gift to be as easy to raid as it had been in the past and they are quickly seeing how miscalculated they had been in their thoughts.

 

Sansa bursts outside with fire burning in her lungs and she tries to breathe, but then she sees Ygritte still pointing that arrow at her husband and there is no time for breathing.

 

“Jon!” She shouts.

 

As soon as her voice reaches him, Jon whips his head to her. It takes him half as second for his mind to realize that yes, she’s actually here and he’s actually looking at her.

 

“Sansa!” He shouts and he sounds terrified.

 

Ygritte doesn’t say a word. She silently – simply – turns her bow and aims the arrow at Sansa now. Sansa doesn’t flinch. She stands there – her back straight and her chin slightly up – and she stares at the woman. The last time Ygritte had been here, Sansa had allowed this woman to intimidate her; to make her feel uncomfortable in her home with her own husband.

 

Not anymore. She is Sansa Snow, Lady of Queenscrown and the Gift. She is the mother of the next Lord or Lady Snow. She is Jon’s wife and this is their home and no one will ever be able to intimidate her again.

 

Sansa doesn’t look at the arrow trained on her. She looks at Ygritte instead and almost feels sad for this woman. She had had Jon once and Sansa knows that they had something resembling love between them. She tries to think of how she would be if Jon didn’t love her anymore; if he found himself a mistress and showered her with his attention and love and no longer wanted her.

 

Pointing an arrow at that woman, Sansa admits, isn’t that hard to understand.

 

Behind her, she can hear Jeyne, Del and Lenyl all stopping behind her, none moving either; none of them having any sort of idea of what Ygritte is going to do.

 

“Ygritte,” Jon snaps her name. “You point it at me.”

 

Ygritte doesn’t though. She keeps it point at Sansa as her eyes stare at her and though it is dark except for flames from the torches still lit on the walls and there is too much distance between them, Sansa thinks there might be tears in the other woman’s eyes.

 

“Back off, old man,” Ygritte suddenly says and they all see that Davos had been attempting to make a wide circle to sneak up on her, but as soon as he’s caught, the man stops. Jon looks to his man and gives the slightly shake of his head and Davos steps back.

 

“Ygritte,” Jon says her name again – his voice still hard, but he’s trying to keep himself calm. Sansa, though, can hear the slight tremor in it. “Point. It. At. Me.” But it as if now that Sansa is here, Ygritte can’t hear Jon.

 

Sansa, herself, still hasn’t moved. She and Ygritte continue staring at one another, the bow still pulled back, the arrow still trained on her.

 

She is the Lady of Queenscrown and she will not tremble.

 

Several things then all seem to happen at once, seconds apart.

 

“Ygritte!” Jon snaps just as Ygritte’s arm begins to shake from holding the bow back for so long.

 

From the corner of her eye, she sees a flash of white and then, just as Ygritte releases the arrow – right for Sansa – Ghost leaps and attacks Ygritte, Ygritte screaming as the direwolf tackles her to the ground. Sansa is frozen, the arrow whizzing through the air for her, but suddenly, she is shoved to the side and she falls. She hears Jeyne scream and Sansa watches as the arrow lands in Lenyl’s shoulder, knocking him down.

 

For a moment, Sansa feels absolutely frozen – just as she had felt when the arrow had been sailing towards her. She sees Lenyl on the ground and Jeyne is kneeling beside him, the arrow sticking from his body. Ghost has stopped attacking Ygritte at Jon’s order, but the animal still stands over her, not letting her get up. And Sansa is very aware of her heart pounding in her chest.

 

She then turns her head and sees Jon. Suddenly, she sees only Jon. And Jon sees her, too, and before she can get herself to her feet, Jon strides right for her. He scoops her up into his arms and Sansa wraps her own arms around his neck and Jon holds her, both hugging one another as tightly as they can.

 

After a long time, Jon pulls his head back and Sansa looks to him as he gently puts her onto her feet again.

 

“I told you to stay in our chamber,” is the first thing he says to her.

 

“You did,” Sansa nods without argument.

 

“You didn’t stay in our chamber,” Jon then says.

 

“I did not,” she agreed.

 

Without a word, Jon brings her into another hug, an arm tight around her back and his other hand on the back of her head. Sansa closes her eyes and grasps the material of the shirt covering her husband’s back, closing her eyes and pressing her nose into his shoulder.

 

The raid is finished, but things are not quiet. The men – and the women and children emerging from their hiding places – look over the damage, seeing to their own wounded. The air smells of smoke and most of the stable has been saved, the fire now extinguished and the courtyard is holding all of the horses, sheep and pig. Sheep. Sansa gasps as she yanks her head back.

 

“Dorren!” She calls out, her eyes frantically looking over the animals. “Dorren!” She shouts louder.

 

 _Baa!_ She sighs with relief when she hears the bleating of her sheep – soon to be ram – and she sees Dorren pushing his way through people and animals alike to get to her. Sansa drops to her knees and Dorren comes right to her. She rubs her hands over his wooly coat and kisses his head again and again. _Baa!_ He bleats quietly, contentedly, and presses his head against her chest.

 

“Good boy,” she whispers to him. _Baa_ is his reply.

 

Standing up once again, she turns to Lenyl. He is conscious, withering in pain, as Jon looks over the arrow. Jeyne is kneeling on his other side, her hand holding his, and Sansa comes to see as well. Lenyl saved her life. He certainly didn’t have to do that. He is a wilding and he has no loyalty to them. But when Ygritte had fired that arrow at her, it seemed like Lenyl hadn’t even hesitated in knocking her away and taking it himself.

 

Him being conscious is a good thing, but it’s also not. They’re going to have to pull the arrow out and it’s much easier if the person isn’t awake for it. Lenyl lets out a shouting curse when Jon moves him enough to break the arrow off in the back.

 

“It’ll be easier to pull out now,” Jon tells him.

 

Sansa sees that her husband has Lenyl taken care of and she looks around at the other wounded men. Time to take charge of what she knows. Robb would send wounded soldiers after the battles to Winterfell and it was up to Sansa and the other women there to care for them and nurse them back to health.

 

“Davos,” Sansa says and her husband’s man is instantly at her side.

 

“My Lady,” he says with a bow of his head.

 

“Move the tables in the Great Hall to make room and begin to move the wounded there. Tell Kitty to get the maids to gather blankets and tell Sam that he must gather every herb he has. Tell him to then come out here first to aid us with Lenyl.”

 

“Yes, My Lady,” Davos bows his head again before turning and hurrying off to do as she says.

 

Sansa returns to stand at Jon’s side and puts a light hand on his shoulder. He turns his head and looks up to her. “We won’t move him. Sam will come to us. It’d be best though if we perhaps get him some ale to drink.”

 

Jon nods and covers her hand with his, giving it a squeeze.

 

“Del,” Jon tells his page, who is still standing with them. “Go into the kitchen and get a bottle of ale from the stores. Make sure it is a full bottle.”

 

Del doesn’t say anything before he turns and races back inside.

 

Jeyne is still holding Lenyl’s hand and he is grasping hers in his, trying to keep his breathing as steady as he can despite the large amount of pain he’s in, and Jon stands up, gently guiding Sansa a few feet in an attempt to give them some privacy. It is the first chance Jon has to take stock of the conditions of everything – of the stable, of the wounded and the dead.

 

He holds Sansa’s hand and as he looks at everything, his other hand goes to rest over their baby; as if he is drawing strength from it and needing the reassurance that the baby is still there, safe and sound. Sansa covers her hand with his and looks at him as he looks around. Their eyes land on Ygritte at the same time, still laying on the ground with Ghost over her, keeping her there.

 

Sansa opens her mouth to ask him what will be done with her, but before she can form even the first word, Jon begins walking, his hand still holding onto Sansa’s so where he goes, she goes, too.

 

“Ghost,” Jon says and still baring his teeth to the woman beneath him, Ghost slowly moves himself back.

 

Ygritte still remains on her back though. Ghost hadn’t injured her – too badly – but there are still some bites and scratches that she is bleeding from.

 

“If I banish you to never return, there’s always a chance you might come back again and that’s not a chance I’m willing to take with my home, my people, my wife and my child,” Jon says. “I have every right in the world to drag you to the middle of this courtyard this very moment and swing my sword through your neck, but what I want to do is take you down into this Keep’s dungeon and leave you there for a few months where you can sit there and think of what you have done to be there. I think not being able to go back North will be a far greater punishment for you than just killing you right now.”

 

Ygritte wisely stays silent and he still holds Sansa’s hand as he signals to two of his men and when they come, he tells them what to do with the wilding.

 

“Have someone take care of her wounds,” Jon says as they pull Ygritte to her feet. “I don’t want her to die of an infection and cut her punishment short.”

 

Ygritte looks to Jon and Sansa one more time before she's taken away and Sansa, Lady of Queenscrown, looks right back.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy. Shit. I prefer to write domestic fluff (with a little angst mixed in) so I don't get enough practice writing action scenes like the last chapter, but after your amazing response to it, I think it's definitely something I need to explore more if a story I write calls for it. Thank you so, so much for everything. Robb, Catelyn, Sansa's brothers and Robb's wife will be visiting, Sansa's pregnancy is further along and the House Snow words and sigil will soon be revealed.


	27. Family (and Official) Business

…

 

**Twenty-Seven. Family (and Official) Business.**

Over the past few weeks, the sounds of hammers and men working outside have dominated the air, but all of their hard work has paid off and the stable is complete, looking better now that it had previously before it had been set on fire. The horses, sheep and pigs seem to approve of their new home if their happy noises while being shown into their new stalls was any indication. All of the work on the Keep has been completed as well – new roofs, with every chamber scrubbed clean; Kitty and her maids have been working tirelessly inside to make it all practically sparkle.

 

This morning, the entire Keep is outside, waiting in the courtyard when the first carriage pulls in. Jon, with Sansa at his side, doesn’t know why he’s nervous. He just knows that he is. And as if Sansa can sense that, her hand finds his and even through the leather of their gloves, Jon can feel the warmth. He squeezes it and glances at her, but Sansa is watching the carriage with excitement as it comes to a stop.

 

They are visiting sooner than what had originally been planned, but once Jon wrote to Robb to tell him of the wilding raid, Robb’s plans of visiting once the baby had been born had been moved up quite a bit. But despite the serious reason for his visit, when he opens the door to the carriage, steps down, and sees Jon and Sansa, Robb is smiling. And Jon and Sansa’s smiles are instant as well.

 

Normally, Robb would ride on horseback rather than in the carriage, but today, he turns back and holds out his hand, his wife, Wynafryd Stark, Queen in the North, placing her hand in his and Sansa notes that her brother and his wife exchange small smiles as he helps her step down from the carriage. Robb and Wynafryd are still very much newlyweds and were practical strangers before their wedding ceremony so Sansa knows that they are still in that stage of getting comfortable with one another. She can only hope that her brother finds love with his wife like she has found love with her husband.

 

As soon as Robb and Wynafryd are facing the courtyard, everyone drops into curtsies and bows – and Robb promptly rolls his eyes.

 

“Get up,” he orders.

 

He strides to Jon first and the two embrace.

 

Sansa finds hugs between males interesting. A lot of pounding one another on the back and she wonders if – when they are still boys – that is the way they learn how to hug one another; or if there’s any learning at all and all men just _know_ that this is how they must hug one another.

 

Robb then looks to Sansa and the siblings burst into smiles at the sight of one another. Without a word, Robb hugs her – much gentler than he had with Jon – and Sansa closes her eyes, already feeling tears building up. As her pregnancy continues, her body has seemed to right itself in regards to her constant wanting to either cry or throw things in anger, but having gone so long without seeing her older brother and now having him here, even if she wasn’t with child, Sansa knows she would begin to cry at the sight of him.

 

“My Gods, look at you!” Robb exclaims, his smile wide across his face. He has taken a step back and grasps Sansa’s elbows in his hands as he looks down to her pregnant stomach.

 

Sansa laughs and nods. “About five months along now.”

 

“And everything is well?” Robb asks, looking to Jon before back to Sansa.

 

“Better than well,” Jon confirms with his own smile.

 

Robb squeezes Sansa’s elbows and then takes a step back, looking to Wynafryd and holding his arm out. “May I introduce my wife, Wynafryd Stark, Queen in the North.”

 

Wynafryd is very pretty with dark brown eyes, pale skin and long, dark brown hair, worn in a simple Northern braid, brought over her shoulder. Sansa notes that they actually have the same hairstyle this day.

 

“Wynafryd, my sister and good-brother, Sansa and Jon Snow, Lord and Lady of House Snow of the Gift,” Robb makes the proper introductions and for as much has he hates when his family bows to him, Sansa thinks that her brother holds himself and speaks with a confidence that commands all to pay attention to him. It would seem that her brother has grown quite well into his role as King in the North.

 

Sansa gives a small curtsy and Jon gives a bow and then Sansa steps forward to hug her good-sister, Wynafryd hugging her in return and Sansa can feel the woman exhale softly; as if relieved that this meeting seems to be going well. The Manderly and Stark families know one another and Sansa has known Wynafryd before her marriage to Robb, but she admits that she hadn’t known her past her name and what she looks like. The letters the two have been exchanging has given Sansa more insight into her brother’s wife and new Queen and from the letters, Sansa already knows that she very much likes Wynafryd Stark.

 

“I am so glad you’re here,” Sansa says to her quietly.

 

“As am I,” Wynafryd whispers and her arms tighten just a bit around Sansa.

 

Another carriage then comes into the courtyard.

 

“Sansa!” The door bursts open before the carriage even comes to a complete stop and now, Sansa feels like she is really and truly going to start crying.

 

First Rickon and then Bran all but topple from the carriage and come running for her, Wynafryd wisely stepping out of the way, and Sansa laughs and opens her arms so her two youngest brothers can run into them. She hugs them so tightly, but they don’t complain, and both begin to talk over one another, excitedly chattering about their journey, having never left Winterfell and certainly not to be this far North.

 

“Alright, you beasts,” Robb says, pretending to frown at them as he grabs Rickon and tosses him over his shoulder, the boy laughing and thumping his brother – King or no King – hard on the back with his fist.

 

Jon is no longer at Sansa’s side and has gone to the second carriage, holding out his hand and helping Catelyn step down from it.

 

“Thank you, dear,” Catelyn smiles at him and then pulls him into a hug, Sansa having to purse her lips together to keep from smiling so widely because Jon’s eyes widen at the gesture, obviously having never expected that Catelyn would hug him.

 

And then, Catelyn and Sansa see one another and Catelyn’s eyes grow wet with tears at the sight of her pregnant daughter, who she hasn’t seen for what feels like such a long time, and Sansa knows that there’s no stopping them now so she doesn’t even bother trying. The tears begin falling down her cheeks and they only keep falling as mother and daughter embrace.

 

…

 

“What do you think?” Sansa asks her mother and Wynafryd as she shows them the gardens. She will never admit that she’s actually showing them off – even though that’s exactly what she’s doing. She can’t help it. She’s excited for them to see her home and everything she and Jon have been able to do here.

 

“It’s so beautiful,” Wynafryd smiles as she looks at the sheep-shaped hedges at the opening of the maze.

 

The three women step inside and begin to try and find their way to the center. Sansa offers no help; she and Jon having spent more than enough time in the center to know the way there by heart.

 

“You’re glowing, my dear,” Catelyn smiles at her, taking Sansa’s arm and looping it through hers.

 

“I am,” Sansa nods in agreement. “It’s almost disgusting how happy I am,” she then says with a laugh.

 

“You deserve it,” Catelyn smiles at her and then takes Wynafryd’s hand into her other one, giving it a squeeze as the three women walk together. “We _all_ deserve it.”

 

Sansa and Wynafryd both smile at that because they know it’s the truth.

 

“And everything is well with the baby?” Catelyn asks though she and Sansa have been exchanging so many letters lately and she knows Sansa wouldn’t keep anything from her – bad or good in regards to the baby.

 

Sansa nods. “Very well. I already ache to hold him or her in my arms and there’s still such a long time until they arrive. I know it’s best and preferred to have a son first, but Jon has already promised me that no matter what we have, there is going to be a big feast in celebration.”

 

“As there should be,” Catelyn agrees.

 

“And we’ve already decided that if it’s a boy, we’re going to name him Ethan, after the first father Jon ever knew and who helped take care of Jon and his mother. And if it’s a girl… Arya,” she all, but whispers, and Catelyn stops walking so she can hug her. When they break apart, both women have wet cheeks and they laugh slightly, wiping at them.

 

“If she could see us now, Arya would give us such a tongue lashing-”

 

“And eye roll,” Sansa finishes and both laugh again.

 

“You won’t name your son after your father?” Wynafryd asks curiously once they begin walking again.

 

“I know he wouldn’t mind if I did, but I feel like Robb should have our father’s name for one of your children. And Ethan Snow does have a wonderful ring to it, doesn’t it?” Sansa asks them both with a beaming smile.

 

“It does,” both women agree with laughter and Sansa laughs, too, feeling so happy and light – not only for having her family here, visiting her and her husband in their home, but because of the baby growing inside of her and knowing that she and Jon are having a baby in just a few more months.

 

“I hope you’re both hungry. I’m excited for the evening meal. I think you and all of the soldiers Robb brought with him will like it. I _hope_ you like it,” Sansa says as they take another turn, getting closer to the center now.

 

“What is it?” Catelyn asks curiously.

 

“Onion and pigs’ feet pies with sides of cranberries, of course,” Sansa tells them.

 

“Pigs feet?” Catelyn asks and Sansa thinks back when she had gone to the market for the first time and found out what she had just eaten. Catelyn Stark certainly has never eaten the poorer cuts of meat either.

 

Sansa just smiles at her mother and squeezes her arm. “You’re going to love it.”

 

…

 

In Jon’s chancery, joined by Davos, Jon and Robb sit in two chairs at the fire and Tormund sits in the other. If the wilding man appears nervous, he is doing a good job of hiding it. Or perhaps he’s not nervous, Jon thinks, because Tormund knows he is not the one responsible for what happened here a few weeks prior.

 

Jon had sent Del North of the Wall to find his father and to give him the message that Robb would be coming and Tormund needed to come speak to them. Again, Jon had wondered if his page would return once he was away from the Gift and back home, North and with his father and brothers.

 

But Del returned within just a few days and Jon knows he needs to stop questioning and wondering about the boy so much.

 

“I know you’re not in charge of all of the wildings, but a good portion of them follow you,” Robb speaks.

 

“Not the ones who did that,” Tormund interjects. “The ones who raided have nothing to do with me.”

 

Robb looks at him for a moment. “That’s rather convenient.”

 

“I’m not a liar, Robb,” Tormund frowns at him and then turns it on Jon. “You both know I’m not. Those who came to Queenscrown to raid, they’re wildings who do their own thing. If some people in the North do bad things, are you responsible for it because you’re their King?”

 

“Yes,” Robb answers without pause. “They are my people and a reflection of me. I’m their King.”

 

“I’m not a King. You also know that,” Tormund says with a slight smirk.

 

Robb sighs heavily. “So, the treaty we signed is useless. That’s what you’re telling me. You used us to help you with your problem and when I expected you to do something for me in return, you shit all over that.”

 

Tormund’s smirk is gone and he’s frowning now. Jon can’t read the man’s face and he tries to think of what he, personally, would be thinking if he was in Tormund’s position right now. The wildings’ numbers are dwindling and the last thing he would want to do is piss of a King who, with a snap of his fingers, could gather enough men to march to the other side of the wall and slaughter that dwindling number.

 

Robb won’t do that though. Jon doesn’t think anyway. There are women and children wildings and that’s not the kind of King Robb is or ever will be. On the other hand, a wilding shot an arrow right to his sister…

 

“Jon,” Robb says, cutting into Jon’s thoughts, and Jon realizes that Robb has been speaking to him.

 

Jon shakes his head slightly. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m leaving the decision to you. This is your House, this is your land that they raided. Your page is a wilding and another wilding saved your wife’s life.”

 

Jon is quiet, thinking all of those very good points over. “I would like to discuss this over with Sansa first. May I give you my answer tomorrow?”

 

He already knows several answers, certain things not having to be thought over at all, but with others, he would like his wife’s perspective on other things. Sansa sometimes – most times – sees things at a different angle than he does and so far, that has shown to work for them both.

 

Robb doesn’t respond to Jon. He looks to Tormund. “Don’t go anywhere tonight or I won’t care what decision Jon comes to and I’ll take care of you myself.”

 

Tormund – and Davos, after being told to bring Sansa back – leaves the chancery and Jon and Robb alone.

 

“You are happy,” Robb states as he pours himself a cup of wine.

 

“I am,” Jon says and just saying those words, he smiles. “Are you?”

 

Robb doesn’t answer right away. He takes a sip of the wine and looks into the fire for a moment. “I miss my father. I am glad my mother is here to help, of course I am, but sometimes… I wish he was still here to guide me.”

 

“He is,” Jon says with confidence. “I only knew your father for a little bit of time, but from what I saw, he was a great man who was proud of his son. He wouldn’t just leave you if you needed him whether he’s alive or not.”

 

Robb turns his head away from the fire to look at Jon. The two friends are silent as they almost seem to study one another and then a smile breaks across Robb’s face. “What in the Seven Hells has my sister done to you?”

 

Jon just smiles and doesn’t say anything.

 

A moment later, there is a knock on the closed door and Jon gets up to go to it. He is still smiling when he opens it and sees Sansa standing there. He takes her hand and gently pulls her inside, closing the door behind her once more.

 

“Did you show him?” Sansa asks eagerly.

 

“Not yet. I wanted to show him together.”

 

The answer makes Sansa smile and she kisses her husband on the cheek.

 

“For as secretive as you’ve been about this, I’m expecting the finest sigil to ever be created,” Robb says, rolling his eyes and pretending to be put out.

 

“Shut it,” Sansa tells him – King or no King, he is still her older brother – and Jon gives a grin as he moves towards his desk.

 

“Sansa and I did not take this lightly and we have worked hard on it. Once we drew out what we wanted, Sansa and Jeyne sewed it.”

 

“I still need to say hello to Jeyne,” Robb looks to Sansa.

 

“She’s been sitting with Lenyl in his room as he recovers,” Sansa says.

 

Jeyne had been ready to come down into the courtyard with the rest of the household, but Sansa had said that her friend stay with Lenyl instead, as she had been all these days already. They had all thought the man was recovering quite nicely from his wound – until a fever set in. He is still in bed, recovering from that.

 

“I still need to meet that man,” Robb adds.

 

Jon takes the design Sansa and Jeyne worked on completing before Robb’s arrival and Robb sets his wine glass down to take what Jon is offering.

 

It is the profile of a ram and in the four corners, there is an intertwining design of a cranberry plant and an onion. The House Snow colors are grey and cranberry – the thread Sansa and Jeyne used dyed from their own cranberry crop – and at the bottom, the House Snow words:

 

_In the storm, we will not tremble._

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeyne and Lenyl were supposed to be in this chapter, but that has been moved to the next one and Robb shall meet the man who saved Sansa's life. Far more Jon/Sansa time together in the next chapter as well. Thank you so, so much for reading and loving this story.


	28. Decisions to Make

…

 

**Twenty-Eight. Decisions to Make.**

 

Lenyl slowly opens his eyes and they instantly fall upon Jeyne. For the past few days – at least he thinks it’s only been days – each time he has opened them, she is the first thing he sees and when he closes them, she is the last thing he sees. More than once, he has almost told her that she doesn’t have to stay, but he never manages to actually say the words. The truth is, he likes her sitting next to his bed and he doesn’t want her to think that he doesn’t want her there when it’s the complete opposite of the truth.

 

“What are you making?” Lenyl asks and Jeyne’s eyes fly up to meet his upon hearing him speak.

 

And the smile on her face is such one of happiness and relief to see him awake, Lenyl almost wishes he could fall back asleep just so he could wake up and see her smile like that again.

 

Instead, he nods towards the needle in her hand and the cloak in her lap and Jeyne smiles, blushing a little as if she’s embarrassed that he’s woken up to see.

 

“I was… I was adding more fur,” she answers and Lenyl doesn’t need her to explain anything further.

 

He’s tried to rationalize his feelings towards Jeyne; that she’s so different from any other woman he’s ever known, _of course_ he is going to be interested in her. She’s nothing like the wilding women and yet, she still is the type of woman to not put up with his shit. He thought kneelers were all the same – at least the women; terrified things who scream and jump and who are useless for anything besides women’s work.

 

Jeyne though… and even Lady Sansa.

 

Lenyl has learned, in his time in Queenscrown, that not all of the kneelers are the same. Just like all of the wildings aren’t the same. Perhaps that’s why he thought that stealing her away with him wasn’t such a crazy thing to do. She may be a kneeler, but she’s tough and brave and those are more important to him than anything; that and the certain beat in his chest that his heart develops whenever his eyes watch her.

 

Jeyne keeps her eyes focusing on the needle and thread and the work in her hands as she speaks next. “I just ask that we stay until after Sansa has the baby. I can’t leave Sansa before then.”

 

Lenyl nods. “We can do that,” he agrees and Jeyne lifts her head to give him a small smile. Lenyl is able to easily match it with one of his own. “Us, Free Folk, don’t get married a lot of the time,” he then says and Jeyne keeps her eyes on him, not saying anything to that. “And I know you kneelers like to do that.”

 

She shakes her head slightly and he’s not surprised that she does. “I’m not going to go with you if we don’t marry, Lenyl.”

 

Lenyl keeps quiet as he thinks that over. He supposes there’s no harm in marrying Jeyne. He wants to be steal her – though it won’t be as much stealing as walking with her at his side when he is finally fit to leave again and in his years, she’s the only girl he’s ever expressed interest in stealing. If she wants to get married, he can’t see any harm in doing that.

 

“We can do that,” he agrees and Jeyne’s smile is instant – bright, big and so happy – and it makes Lenyl grin.

 

A knock on the door has both of them looking away from one another to look to the sound and after a moment, Robb Stark steps inside with Jon behind him. The instant Jeyne sees that it’s him, she quickly gets to her feet, setting aside her cloak and sewing.

 

“Your Grace,” she says while sweeping into a curtsy.

 

Robb rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. “Jeyne,” he says and then crosses to her, pulling her into a hug. It takes Jeyne a moment before she hugs the King in return. “I used to throw mud at you and you’d bite my arm,” he then reminds her once they part again.

 

“I only did that once, Your Grace,” Jeyne says, doing her best to not smile, but it breaking through in the end despite her best efforts.

 

Robb grins and then looks to the man in the bed. “And you are the one who saved my sister and my nephew or niece’s life,” he says to him.

 

Lenyl shrugs. “Your sister’s been a kind woman to me and Jon’s my friend. Neither of them should have had to pay for Ygritte and the others being idiots.”

 

“Still, I won’t be able to ever thank you enough for doing that while you easily could have joined the others in the raid against Jon and the others here.”

 

Lenyl doesn’t say anything to that. He’s not making a big deal out of what he did because to him, it’s not a big deal. Pushing Sansa aside and stepping into the path of Ygritte’s arrow himself had been the only thing to do and he knows that Robb and Jon would have done the exact same thing if they had been in his place. Why make a big deal out of an action that was practically a natural one to make?

 

Robb looks at him for another moment before looking to Jon from over his shoulder before looking back to both Lenyl and Jeyne. “It’s been brought to my attention that you’re going to be taking Jeyne with you when you are able to leave again.”

 

“I’ll be staying until after the baby is born, Your Grace,” Jeyne jumps in and then looks to Jon. “I would never even think of leaving Sansa a moment before that, My Lord.”

 

Jon seems to sigh, relieved at that. “That’s very good to hear, Jeyne,” he tells her and she smiles.

 

“I have had an idea, but I do not know if you would, at all, be interested in it,” Robb continues. “Along the wall, there have been small homes built. Before the war, Brothers would live in these homes to help with keeping watch and alerting all if there was a threat coming from the other side. I do not know if you have any specific plans once you and Jeyne leave here, but I was wondering if you would be interested in taking one of these homes for your own. The Brothers forces are a little thin at the moment and I’m trying to help them as much as I can by seeing if there would be volunteers for the duty. You’ll be paid, of course, for your service.”

 

Lenyl almost snorts. Small homes is not how he would describe them. Though they are nowhere near the size of Castle Black, the headquarters of the Night’s Watch, or this Keep, they are still castles. Little things, but castles nonetheless. He also knows that most have been left unmanned since the war. What the hell does he know about living in something like that? He prefers the open air and sleeping on the ground in a tent.

 

But then he looks to Jeyne and she is already looking at him, surprised at the offer and waiting to hear what he will say on the matter.

 

He can’t expect that for Jeyne. Yes, his intentions of stealing her away to the other side of the Wall are known to her and she already has agreed to come with him, but the life of the wildings is completely different from what she has known her whole life; something so different, she probably can’t even fathom all of the complete changes her life would take.

 

She deserves a home – something solid. He doesn’t know everything, but he knows that her entire family was lost to the war and she left her home in Winterfell to make a home in the Gift and she hasn’t said it, but Lenyl knows that that’s what Jeyne wants. A home of her own; a place that can be hers for her and a family. And the special beats of his heart he gets when he looks at Jeyne makes him want to give her something more than a tent lined in animal furs.

 

Finally, he looks back to Robb and Jon, both awaiting his answer.

 

“We can do that,” he agrees and no sooner do the words leave his mouth that Jeyne bends down and hugs her arms tight around Lenyl’s neck.

 

…

 

“Ohhhh, that feels _perfect_ ,” Sansa moans and Jon smiles.

 

“Ankles, too?” Jon asks, but before Sansa can answer, he moves his hands up from her feet to rub his wife’s ankles as well, Sansa moaning her appreciation.

 

According to Sam – and confirmed by Catelyn – baby Snow has gone through a growth spurt during their fifth month and Sansa’s body is beginning to feel more aches and pains because of it. Jon knows that he can only do so much during this pregnancy as Sansa is the one to actually carry and nourish their child, but whatever he _can_ do, he certainly will and giving Sansa body rubs at the end of each day isn’t the worst duty to see to.

 

Obviously, for these past months, he has known Sansa is pregnant with their child, but he is able to feel it for himself now – his son or daughter moving within Sansa – and it is both completely fascinating and utterly terrifying to him. He and Sansa are having a baby. In just a few more months, their son or daughter is going to be bursting into this world and Jon realizes that he has absolutely no idea what he is doing.

 

“You’ll know,” Sansa assured him when he confessed his thoughts to her. “You’re good with Del and I see the way you sneak Dorren extra scraps from the table when you don’t think I’m looking or the way you carry him off our bed when he can’t get down again. And I know he’s a sheep, but he’s been giving you wonderful practice. There’s no reason why you wouldn’t be a good father to our human children.”

 

And Jon supposes she’s right on that, but each time he feels their baby move, he is struck, for a moment, with paralyzing fear. He wonders if that will go away once the baby is physically here, but he suspects that he’ll be scared for the rest of his life – even after their children are fully grown and off on their own. It seems like always being afraid just comes hand in hand with having children.

 

When he finishes Sansa’s nightly massage, he comes up the bed to lay down at her side and Sansa gently pulls him into a kiss.

 

“Thank you,” she smiles just as she does every other night.

 

Jon just smiles and kisses her again, his hand naturally coming to a rest on his wife’s swollen belly. But as he recalls their conversation after first retiring to their bed, his smile begins to fade. Sansa takes note of it and lifts a hand to his cheek, knowing what’s on his mind.  

 

“I will stand by you no matter what you decide,” she promises him though he doesn’t need her to promise such a thing. He doesn’t doubt Sansa’s love and loyalty to him. He doubts if his decision is the right one.

 

“If you were in my position, what would you do?” Jon asks her.

 

Instead of just shaking her head and saying she doesn’t know, Sansa is quiet and she moves her eyes to look upwards to the ceiling, truly thinking of his question and what her response will be.

 

“All of the wildings who attacked us in the raid have been killed,” Sansa begins to speak, her eyes still to the ceiling. “All except one.” She doesn’t say Ygritte’s name. “Some might think that that might be enough of a message to every other wilding who will think of raiding against us again. But others might think that that’s _not_ a big enough message.”

 

“And which do you think?” Jon asks.

 

Sansa turns her head on the pillow to look at him. “Your punishment might seem harsh, but… she has left you little choice. There is no trust. If you let her go, she could easily come back whenever she feels the need to again and we can’t risk that.”

 

Jon nods. He has tried to think of _any_ other option, but he has not been able to come up with one. It seems like this is the only thing he can do and he can almost hate Ygritte for forcing him into this position, but it will be a position he will stand by if it’s one he must see through. This is his home and these are his people and they all look to him to keep them safe. He will not fail anyone – not his people, his wife or their child. All of those people now in Jon’s life trounces any old relationship or feelings he might have had for the woman still being kept in the Queenscrown Keep's dungeon.

 

“And you will not look at me differently?” Jon has to know.

 

“Jon,” Sansa says his name with a soft smile and a matching soft look in her eyes at his question. She lifts a hand to touch his cheek. The smile fades then and she shakes her head. “I will love you no matter what you decide to do because I know that whatever you decide to do, you are making your decision with a good heart and good mind and only want to do what you think is best.”

 

Jon exhales a breath he hadn’t even realized he’s been holding for her answer and he lowers her head, brushing his lips across hers. Despite the pounding of his heart at knowing what he will do, he still feels almost relief at finally having come to that decision.

 

“Tomorrow, you are spending your day with your mother, Wynafryd, Bran and Rickon?” Jon confirms.

 

Sansa nods. “Yes. We’re going to the market and Bran and Rickon want to spend more time at one of the cranberry bogs. They had such fun at the one they’ve already seen.”

 

Jon nods as well. “Then Robb and I will see to it while you are gone. We’ll take her away so I can do it without an audience. And then, I’ll give the head to Tormund for him to take back so the other wildings will see it.”

 

Sansa nods and her hand remains on his cheek. “You are a very good Lord, Jon,” she tells her husband then in a soft voice and Jon doesn’t know how she knows – he didn’t even know – but somehow, she just does.

 

Those are exactly the words Jon needs to hear right now.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two more chapters planned for this one. THANK YOU so much for reading!


	29. A New Life

…

 

**Twenty-Nine. A New Life.**

“Did you enjoy our stay?” Robb asks his wife as she finishes folding the last of her dresses into her trunk so it can be loaded first thing in the morning. Despite all of the Ladies Wynafryd now has as Queen in the North, Robb has learned that his wife likes to pack her own trunk. He likes that she does. He likes that despite having a household of staff, Wynafryd likes to do some things by herself.

 

Wynafryd smiles and nods, pausing in her work to look at him. “I did. Jon and Sansa have made a beautiful home for themselves here.”

 

Robb smiles at that; as if he’s proud because this is his home, too, that she’s complimenting and he supposes, in the most distant of ways, this _is_ his home. All of the homes to the families in the North are his homes, too. But even if that wasn’t the truth, he would agree with his wife. What Jon and Sansa have done up here _is_ incredible and no one will ever be able to deny it.

 

The lands of the Gift had been ravaged from the war and the Keep in Queenscrown had been falling down just from someone looking at it. Since then, the Keep has been repaired, the onion crop, as well as the lamb’s wool production, have both been one of the best in years and Robb hasn’t told either of them yet, but with the pounds and tons of cranberries harvested and the amounts sold to the different Houses in the rest of Westeros, Jon and Sansa are going to find themselves sitting on quite the small fortune. They keep this up for the next few years, Robb has no doubt that the North is going to have House Snow being one of the wealthiest Houses in all the Westeros.

 

Together, with the help of their people, they have made the Gift more than just the barren tundra everyone else assumes it to be. Robb knew they could do it. If anyone could, it would be Jon and Sansa and he’s glad they’ve proven him so right in his instincts.

 

“I will miss being here, but I am looking forward to returning home to Winterfell,” Wynafryd says, looking to him with another smile.

 

He knows that they would all like to stay longer and initially, they had planned to visit so they may be here when Sansa gives birth, but the wilding raid had messed their whole schedule up. Unfortunately, Sansa won’t give birth for a few more months and the Starks must return to Winterfell and the business that doesn’t stop; simply on hold as it waits for them.

 

Hearing her so easily refer to Winterfell as her home as well, Robb smiles, too.

 

He admits, that while he finds his wife to be very pretty – beautiful, even – and he is attracted to her – and that might be half the battle in arranged marriages – Robb knows that he and Wynafryd are still very much getting to know and getting comfortable with one another. Robb is aware that his own parents’ arranged marriage had been slow-building. Getting used to one another, growing into something of a friendship and that slowly changing into affection before finally blooming into a love between them that lasts until this day, even with Ned’s death.

 

Robb sees it between Jon and Sansa as well; how deeply they love and care for one another.

 

He can only hope that his own arranged marriage will meet the same fate.

 

He moves to the window that overlooks the training yards.

 

Down below, he sees Jon with Del, his page, Rickon and Bran, all three boys armed with bows and practice arrows. Ghost sits at Jon’s side. Off to the side, watching, is Sansa, her hands resting on her belly and that ram of hers, Dorren, is staying at her side. Bran shoots his arrow, completely missing the target, and Rickon must say something because Bran instantly turns to his younger brother and shoves him. Jon immediately steps in between them, saying something, and whatever it is, it makes Sansa laugh and Bran actually smiles. Jon smiles, too, and ruffles his hair before handing him another arrow for another try.

 

Robb does not allow his mind to dwell on how one Stark sibling is missing from the scene. He thinks of Jon’s words in his chancery a few days before. If it’s true and Ned is still checking on them all, there’s no reason that Arya wouldn’t be doing the same. Perhaps, at this moment, Arya _is_ down in that training yard with them.  

 

“Do you think we’ll be that happy someday?” Robb asks, not able to help himself, and he looks from out the window to his wife.

 

Wynafryd pauses in her packing to come stand at his side so she can see what he is seeing; and when she does, she smiles. “I don’t doubt it, Robb,” she says, turning her head to look at him as she says that. He likes when she says his name. He knows that she won’t while they’re in public, in front of others and he’s “Your Grace”, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t wish that she would.

 

Her smile is warm and he knows that she means those words completely. And Robb looks at her and he smiles, too, believing those words of hers because he _wants_ to believe them. They may still be getting to know one another, but this woman is his wife and Robb _wants_ to know her and he _wants_ them to be happy. They both deserve to be happy. Everyone in the North does. They have all been through so much; have all lost so much and now, Robb is tired and he wants to be happy and have a good life for himself.

 

He looks at Wynafryd now and he doesn’t doubt that he can have that good life with her.

 

He admits to having been moving slowly with her. Their marriage has been consummated, obviously, and there have been a few more times he has shared her bed since, but they have both been taking things at a slow pace between them, wanting more familiarity before intensifying a sexual relationship between them.

 

And Robb moves slow now, as well; not wanting to startle her. But as he lifts a hand and brings it around to rest on the back of her head, Wynafryd is looking at him with such soft eyes and a matching soft smile, Robb wonders if he can pick things up a bit with her. When he kisses her, she instantly kisses him back and it makes Robb think that maybe she’s done with moving quite as slow and Robb has to agree with his wife.

 

…

 

“This is ridiculous,” Jon mutters when he stands straight as another maid rushes past him with more fresh linens to take into the chamber with her, almost expecting her to tell him he’s needed, but she rushes past as if she’s not even aware he’s there.

 

“It is the way of things, My Lord,” Davos tells him; more like reminding him because Davos has already told Jon this more than once already.

 

“Well, whoever made it the way of things was an idiot,” Jon scowls and Lenyl, sitting in one of the chairs in the solar, snorts at that.

 

Jon stares at the door leading into his wife’s chamber, concentrating as if he does it hard enough, he will be able to make his body appear on the other side. He can sometimes hear Sansa groaning with pain from the other side of the door and Jon clenches his fists tightly to prevent himself from storming into the room and dare any of the others present to tell him that he must leave.

 

Their baby has decided to arrive just on time, according to Sam, which – also according to Sam – is quite remarkable, apparently, because the first born sometimes either chooses to be too early or very late. Jon is glad their son or daughter has decided to stop torturing their mother. This last month of pregnancy has probably been the most uncomfortable for Sansa. Her feet, ankles and back were always hurting. She could never sleep for more than an hour at a time, never able to get comfortable and their child constantly kicking her; not to mention the constant trips to the chamber pot to empty her bladder.

 

Jon wants to be in that room with his wife. He hates the idea that she’s in excruciating pain, without him, bringing their child into this world, without him, and he has to stay out here because it’s the way of things. He feels like he’s about to come out of his skin – especially when he hears Sansa let out a pained cry.

 

“That’s it,” Jon says, more to himself, but loud enough for Davos and Lenyl to hear.

 

He shoves the door open and his eyes instantly land upon Sansa propped up in the bed, Sam at the foot of it, Jeyne at Sansa’s side, wiping her sweaty face with a cloth and saying words of encouragement. Kitty and a few other maids are in the room to help, but Jon instantly sees Sansa and she’s all he sees.

 

“Jon,” Sansa says his name and he knows she means to scold him for coming in here, but it comes out more than a whisper and no one will be able to get Jon out of this room now that he’s here.

 

Jon strides to the other side of the bed, instantly taking her other hand. The room is blazing with heat from the fire roaring in the hearth, but they will not open the window to allow the night air in. The last thing they all need is the cold air hitting Sansa’s sweated skin and getting her sick.

 

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Sansa tells him as she tries to keep her breathing steady.

 

“Try to get me to leave,” Jon says with a small smile, holding her hand and then tightening his grip when Sansa squeezes it as tightly as she can and she lets out another cry.

 

“We’re almost there, My Lady,” Sam tells her, lifting his head to look up the bed to her.

 

“Sam!” Sansa snaps. “Stop calling me that!”

 

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Sansa,” Sam says hurriedly and Jon doesn’t know if the man’s cheeks are flushed from Sansa yelling at him or from the heat of the room. Sam ducks his head down again to check the progress before he looks to Jon this time and signals for him to come.

 

“What?” Jon rushes to his side. “What is it?” He peeks between his wife’s thighs and quickly looks away again. “Is everything alright?”

 

“I’m thinking perhaps you should sit behind Sansa on the bed,” Sam tells him in a low voice. “When she has to push, she’ll be able to brace herself against you.”

 

Jon nods quickly, immediately agreeing.

 

“Love,” Jon says once he returns to Sansa’s side. “Jeyne is going to help me and we’re going to sit you up enough for me to get behind you. I’m going to hold you and you can push against me when you have to push. Would that be alright?”

 

“Yes,” Sansa whimpers and she sounds near tears now from the pain.

 

Jon has heard men dying. He’s been in too many battles to count and has seen so many die – both men and women; having been responsible for so many of those deaths. But the sound of his wife in such pain is the worst sound, Jon knows, that he has ever heard.

 

With the help of Jeyne, Jon and Sansa get Sansa sitting up enough for Jon to be behind her and no sooner does he get himself positioned, his back against the headboard, does Sansa nearly collapse into his chest. Jon has no idea what to do, but he hopes just hugging and holding her will be enough to help her.

 

“Alright… Sansa!” Sam calls out to her. “It’s time. Give me your first big push!”

 

And that’s when the screams really start. Sansa grips one of Jeyne’s hands and her other hand grips Jon’s and she screams as she pushes, her body bracing against Jon’s for further support.

 

“I hate you!” She shouts and Jon doesn’t know who she’s talking to, but he thinks it might be to him.

 

And he knows he’s right when Jeyne looks at him, doing her best to not smile.

 

“Every wife hates their husband during this time, My Lord,” Jeyne informs him.

 

Jon loses track of his wife’s screams because mixed in the screams are curses in his wife’s voice and those might shock him more than anything; his proper wife – the very definition of a high-born Lady – cursing at the top of her lungs as Sam continues to tell her to push.

 

“He’s here!” Sam shouts just as Sansa’s body collapses with exhaustion against Jon’s and they hear the cries of a baby that hadn’t been there just a second ago.

 

Kitty is instantly at Sam’s side, tears shining in the woman’s eyes, as she hands Sam a clean linen. It takes him another minute to cut the cord and make sure all is right and Jon and Sansa are both absolutely silent and still as Sam finally stands up, holding up their crying, bloody baby up for them to see. Upon seeing their baby, Sansa immediately bursts into tears, too – these out of pure joy – and Jon’s eyes begin feeling a bit misty to him as well.

 

“He?” Sansa echoes.

 

“You have a son, My Lord and Lady,” Sam beams.

 

He then comes around and Jon doesn’t blink as Sam carefully places their son into Sansa’s arms. She is still crying, but as if he knows that he is in his mother’s arms, their son is already beginning to quiet down. Jon can do nothing, but stare over Sansa’s shoulder down to the baby; his son. He has a son now. A wife and a keep and a Title and his loyal and loving people and to add to it all, now, a son.

 

Neither Jon or Sansa pay attention to the others in the room now as they go about cleaning Sansa up, taking away the bloody linens to wash, Sam seeing to Sansa once more between her thighs, cleaning and stitching. Sansa doesn’t even flinch; too distracted by the perfect baby in her arms. Soon, Sam will take the baby to clean him as well, but for now, the new parents are going to absorb themselves in these precious minutes with their new baby.

 

“He looks like an Ethan, doesn’t he?” Sansa whispers with a smile, turning her head to look to Jon’s face, her smile growing just a bit at the look of absolute awe visible on her husband’s face.

 

If he’s being completely honest, Jon would say that right now, their son looks like a bloody mess, but the _father_ , Jon, still staring in wonderment at their son, nods his head. He loves Sansa, but when he looks down to his son, it’s a completely different love he feels filling his chest near to the point of bursting. This love for the baby in Sansa’s arms is all-encompassing and _instant_.

 

“Ethan Snow,” Jon agrees. He then turns his head to Sansa and kisses her temple. “You did it. You were so fantastic, Sansa, and look at what you’ve done.”

 

Sansa’s cheeks are flushed at the compliment, but then she shakes her head. They both look down to Ethan once more. “No, My Lord. Look at what _we’ve_ done.”

 

Jon kisses her temple again.

 

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to write more moments of Sansa's pregnancy, but I decided not to because 1) I've never been pregnant so have never experienced it personally 2) there are so many awesome Sansa-pregnant stories that have written it better and 3) it just didn't fit in as well as I had hoped with the story I was telling. 
> 
> THANK YOU so much for reading and commenting and enjoying this story. One more chapter to go and... I think I'm going to have another Dorren POV :)


	30. All is Well

…

 

**Thirty. All is Well.**

Once he gets more than enough of his fill of grass from the field they have been brought to, Dorren turns towards one of the men who’s watching over the grazing flocks of sheep that day.

 

 _Baa!_ Dorren calls out to him.

 

The man looks to him and gives him a smile, holding up his hand. “Go on then, Dorren!”

 

 _Baa!_ Dorren replies.

 

He turns and begins heading from the field in the direction of the Keep. He nudges one of his lambs affectionately in the bottom on his way and the lamb gives a _baa_ to their father in response. Dorren continues on his way, trotting the familiar direction. Once he leaves the field and enters the Keep’s courtyard, there are people all around, going this way and coming from that way – all going about their own business, jobs, and duties. Many who he crosses says hello to him and Dorren gives them his _Baa!_ as he heads inside. He turns to look behind him and make sure he’s not tracking in mud from outside. One time, he had done that and Kitty had threatened to beat his bottom – prized and beloved Ram to her Lady or not.

 

Dorren doesn’t scare easily, but he _does_ feel a bit nervous while around Kitty, who takes the cleanliness of their home very seriously, and does his best to not get himself on her bad side.

 

He heads up the stairs to the second floor of the Keep and he goes down the familiar corridor, already able to smell his Lady and go towards her familiar rose-water scent. She’s in the youngest master’s chamber, the two-year-old in his mother’s arms, his head resting on her shoulder as Sansa rocks him gently and sings softly. She hears Dorren come into the room and she gives him a smile before returning attentions to her son.

 

Ethan is the oldest son at six and Robbie is the second oldest at two. There was a child to be born in between, but Sansa had lost it within the earliest months of her pregnancy and she and Jon made the decision to wait a bit longer until they tried for their next. The whole of the Gift sighed with relief when their Lady’s pregnancy was uncomplicated and Robert Snow was born, safe and healthy.

 

Dorren has heard Jon and Sansa talk that maybe it is time now to try for a third. They both know how much Sansa would love a daughter; the name, Arya, ready and waiting, but Jon has confessed that he’s scared. The entirety of her pregnancy with Robbie, he felt as if he hadn’t gotten any sleep, constantly worried that something would happen to his wife or unborn child.  

 

“But I’m alright,” Sansa told her husband with a soft smile and a hand resting on his cheek. “And Sam is a brilliant maester who wouldn’t let harm come to me. If he thinks I’m ready for a third, and _I_ think I’m ready for a third, aren’t we the two people you should listen to the most when it comes to this matter?”

 

Jon wrapped his arms around Sansa’s waist, pulling her in tight to him. “I wouldn’t survive if anything ever happened to you or any of our children,” he said; revealing it is as if it was some secret that Sansa – and everyone else in the Gift – didn’t already know.

 

Sansa smiled faintly and circled her arms around her husband’s shoulders. “Remember our promise to one another? I will never leave your side, Jon.”

 

Jon exhaled a breath and leaned in to rest his forehead to hers. “And I will never leave yours,” was his response.

 

Dorren is not sure if they came to an agreement or not on having another child; that is far past being his business, Dorren knows. He can only hope that his Lady and mother gets a third child; a daughter this time.

 

The Snow children have nurses, of course, as all children of their particular station has, but Sansa and Jon very much see to their children as much as they possibly can. When one wakes up in the night, crying out from a nightmare, Jon is the one to go to them and for Robbie’s afternoon nap each day, Sansa is the one to rock him until he’s asleep.

 

“Sleep well, my little one,” she murmurs into her son’s black curls now. “When you wake again, your papa will be home once more.”

 

Robbie, completely asleep, does not stir at his mother’s words or when Sansa places him gently in his bed.

 

Once Robbie is settled and his beloved stuffed wolf – a present from his Uncle Robb and Aunt Wynafryd – is in the crook of his arm, Sansa drops a light kiss to his head before standing and turning to Dorren.

 

“Shall we go find Ethan?” She suggests.

 

Dorren doesn’t dare _baa_ for it might wake Robbie up. Instead, he turns and heads right out of the room, Sansa following behind him with a light laugh. Dorren knows where Ethan is at this hour and he leads the way, Sansa coming to walk at his side. At Maester Sam’s chancery door, Dorren lets out a _Baa!_ to let them know that he is here and Sansa pushes the door open, poking her head inside to see if they’re interrupting. Dorren doesn’t care about that though and he pushes himself into the room.

 

Sam and Ethan are sitting at the table near the fire, a map of the North unrolled out in front of Ethan. Both lift their heads when Sansa, with Dorren, come inside and Ethan gives her mother a smile, Sansa returning it with one of her own as she gets closer to see how his lessons are going.

 

“Very good, Ethan,” Sam smiles at the boy. It had taken Sam quite a bit of time, but he is able to call both boys by their name instead of “My Lord” constantly. “And this one?” He points to another Coat of Arms marked on the map, Sansa leaning in closer to see which one it is.

 

Ethan pauses for a moment as he makes sure he has the right one. “House Tully of Riverrun,” he states.

 

“Very good,” Sam says again with a wide smile and Ethan smiles, too, looking up to Sansa, pleased with himself. Sansa is sure that he can see the pride in her own face. “And their House Words?”

 

Again, he pauses and takes a deep breath. “Duty, Family, Honor?”

 

“Close,” Sam says. “Those are the three. Just the wrong order.”

 

At that hint, Ethan is quick to correct it. “Family, Duty, Honor.”

 

“Excellent,” Sansa is the one to speak with a smile and Ethan sits a little straighter in his chair, proud.

 

“And what is our alliance to House Tully?” Sam asks him.

 

“Grandmother Catelyn is a Tully!” Ethan exclaims then; as if to say that out loud gives him joy.

 

Ethan’s lesson goes on for a bit longer before it ends and Ethan comes with Sansa, and Dorren, so Sam can see to some of his own work.

 

“Is Papa really coming back today?” Ethan asks as he holds Sansa’s hand and they make their way outside.

 

“He is,” Sansa nods with a smile. “Have you missed him?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Sansa squeezes her son’s hand. “Me, too. But maybe, next time your papa has to ride out, you will be able to come with him,” she suggests.

 

Ethan gasps at the suggestion with wide eyes. “You think so, mama?”

 

“It is something you must learn and who better to teach you about the lands of the Gift than your papa?”

 

It’s not her favorite thing to think of – and she knows that Ethan is only six so she still has some time before it happens – but one day, he _will_ be Lord of the Gift – either once Jon has passed on or he is too old to see to the duties himself and passes the responsibilities onto his oldest son – and he needs to know his lands.

 

“My Lady.”

 

Both Sansa and Ethan turn to see Mikken, standing there, panting from having run to her.

 

“Riders approach, My Lady.”

 

“How many?” She asks.

 

“Three. And a direwolf,” Mikken confirms.

 

That makes Sansa smile. “Thank you, Mikken.”

 

The hustle and bustle in the courtyard seems to have intensified as word of their Lord’s approach is spread, all hurrying to finish what they are seeing to so they are able to greet Jon properly when he rides in.

 

“Papa!” Ethan calls out excitedly as Jon, followed by Davos and Del, rides into the courtyard, Ghost bringing up the rear of their party.

 

Dorren bleats at the sight of his friend and hurries to go greet him.

 

Jon is grinning as one of the stable boys hurry to hold the reigns of his horse steady so he may dismount. Ethan pulls his hand from Sansa’s so he can go running to him and Jon swoops his son up in his arms, hugging him tight, closing his eyes for a moment.

 

“I missed you,” Jon tells him. “Did you miss me? Were you good for your mama?” He asks, both pulling their heads back so they can look at one another.

 

“Yes, papa,” Ethan nods his head quickly to both questions. “Look, papa!” Ethan then turns his head so Jon might see Ethan’s own black curls pulled back into the tiniest bun to mirror Jon’s.

 

“Look at that,” Jon grins widely. “I haven’t been gone _that_ long. Has your hair grown that quickly?”

 

“Yes!” Ethan exclaims with excitement and Jon laughs.

  
Once Ethan is on his feet once more and he goes to greet Davos, Del and Ghost, Jon’s eyes land right on Sansa as she stands there, looking at him with her own smile, and he quickly strides to her, the distance shrinking between them. Without a word, he pulls his wife into his arms and Sansa more than happily goes into them, both of them hugging one another tightly.

 

“All is well, My Lord?” Sansa asks him into the fur collar of his cloak.

 

“It is now that I’m home, My Lady,” Jon confirms.

 

…

 

“I don’t blame Jeyne for getting perturbed,” Sansa says as a kitchen serving girl brings more for them. “I wouldn’t have the patience to wait for six months.”

 

Jon and Sansa, along with Ethan and Robbie, have taken their evening meal in the family’s private solar so they might have some time alone. Jon has asked endless questions about what has happened while he has been gone on his bi-yearly tour of the Gift to visit the farmers and the smaller villages in the land; onion production is at an all-time high, there are more cranberry bogs than the year before and the year before that, and the farmers who have been tending their asparagus fields these past few years are finally able to harvest their crop.

 

As the Gift gains its wealth and word spreads of the small fortunes the farmers are able to earn for themselves, for the first time – in probably the history of Westeros – people are beginning to move _to_ the Gift and the small villages are also growing in size.

 

And once Sansa has sworn that she has told him everything of what has happened in Queenscrown, Jon tells her of his own happenings. His final stop on his trip had been to Lenyl and Jeyne in their own small castle on the wall. They have had their first baby – a daughter – and though Sansa has received a raven from her dear friend just three days earlier, she still asks Jon to tell her everything.

 

“It is a wilding tradition,” Jon shrugs.

 

“I suppose,” Sansa sighs as if she doesn’t want to admit it and Jon cracks a smile.

 

Wildings do not name their babies for the first few months of their lives; mortality among wilding babies low due to the harsh environment they are born into and once they survive and seem that they will live, that is when they are named. Sansa knows that Lenyl and Jeyne’s life is a bit easier than if they had gone completely North of the Wall, but living on the Wall itself can be hard in its own ways. Still, she doesn’t know how Jeyne is able to wait. Sansa thinks naming hers and Jon’s children is one of her favorite things to do.

 

“Lenyl promised they’ll be visiting in the next month or so,” Jon adds and Sansa nods.

 

“Jeyne promised the same thing. I hope they are able to stay for a bit of time,” Sansa then admits and Jon gives her a small smile, keeping one arm wrapped around Robbie, sitting in his lap, and reaching his other hand out to cover Sansa’s. He knows that though Jeyne and Lenyl visit as often as they can, Sansa still very much misses having her dearest friend around all of the time.

 

“I do have something else to tell you,” Jon then says after he pauses to take another bite of his pigs feet pie.

 

Sansa is wiping Ethan’s mouth of gravy with his napkin and she lifts her head to look at her husband.

 

“Davos and I were speaking the other night and I told him… I confided in him about our discussions of maybe having another one of these,” Jon says, glancing down to Robbie before back to Sansa.

 

Sansa finds herself already smiling. Davos is one of the few people who can actually speak candidly with her husband in a way that gets her husband to actually listen. In her opinion, Davos is the smartest man in the Gift – but she is sure to keep that opinion to herself.

 

“And what did Davos say?” Sansa wonders.

 

“He reminded me that we survived a war. A terrible and long war and for the people who survive something like that, it is our duty to see that we live as much life as we can for those who no longer are able to.”

 

“I’ve always thought quite highly of Davos,” Sansa smiles.

 

Jon lets out a laugh. “I’m aware of that.”

 

“So…” Sansa looks to him, her smile only growing.

 

“So… if you’re certain and you’d like to… we could maybe begin to try tonight,” Jon suggests.

 

“Try what?” Ethan asks curiously, having overheard.

 

“Nothing,” Jon and Sansa both say at the same exact time and then looking to one another, they break into laughter. They do so much of that now.

 

Not just speaking at the same time, their thoughts so often being the same, but laughing. There are so many reasons to laugh and be happy, Sansa doesn’t even know if she can count them all.

 

After they lost their second baby – it so early in the pregnancy, they hadn’t even known if it was a boy or girl – laughter and smiles had certainly been hard to come by in the weeks that followed, but Jon and Sansa did what they have done this whole time together. They went through it, side by side, and survived and in the words of their House, they did not tremble.

 

Jon looks to her and when he leans over to her, Sansa begins to lean over to him as well and their lips meet.

 

This is definitely a reason at the top of the list of things to be happy though in Sansa’s opinion. Her husband and her husband’s kisses.

 

She still remembers how nervous she had been all of those years ago when she and her mother had been in a carriage from Winterfell, the only home she had ever known, coming to the Gift so that Sansa could see and meet her husband for the first time; worried that her husband wouldn’t like her or that she wouldn’t like him or that she would live the rest of her life without being loved.

 

Jon slowly pulls his lips back and Sansa opens her eyes to find him looking at her. He gives her a smile and Sansa easily smiles back, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek simply because she wants to touch him.

 

“I love you,” she then tells him; again simply because she wants him to know; as if he could possibly ever forget or doubt her deep feelings towards him after all this time.

 

But each time she says those words – no matter how many times she says them to him – Jon still breathes and smiles as if they’re the best words he’s ever heard.

 

“I love you, too,” Jon’s reply is instant.

 

And Sansa always smiles because those words _are_ the best words she’s ever heard.

 

…

 

The End. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading and giving this story such love. It was a random idea I had one day - the image of Sansa in a carriage, being taken to meet her husband for the first time - and it bloomed into this story and it means so much that it was enjoyed by so many. I can't thank you all enough for giving this one a shot!


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